The Chronicles of Tanya the Holy
by Icura
Summary: War. War never ends. Thrown into a new war in a new life, Tanya must do what it takes to get what she truly wants. A five story mansion and a retirement fund in the safest place in Azeroth: the capital city of Lordaeron.
1. Prologue

The Chronicles of Tanya the Holy (Youjo Senki/Warcraft)

Co-authored by Vahn

~o~

Prologue

~o~

The train jostled along on the railroad track, unmindful of the harsh and bumpy ride it was providing its occupants. As for me, I was seated on the metal railing that constitutes seating in the supposedly first-class rail car, dressed in a military uniform that was lined with fur. Holding my Mondragon rifle tightly within the folds of my arms, I sat as still as winter, moving only in parallel to the rocking of the train. Indeed, if this was first class, then I didn't want to know how bad economy class would be. Maybe they simply packed them in like cattle.

The idle thought did nothing to ease my mind; instead, it felt even more muddled. I raised my gaze to the one sitting across from me. Major Weiss. His curved face and black hair made it impossible for me to not recognize him. Seated next to the major were other members of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. More specifically, the soldiers of the first company. As my eyes turned to the side, they slowly settled on the person sitting next to me, First Lieutenant Serebryakov, who was chatting amicably with First Lieutenant Grantz who, in turn, sat next to her.

Yet, in spite of that, I could not hear what they were saying. Her mouths opened and close like a blur, but there was no sound. The only noise I could perceive was the rumbling of the rail car. Despite that, there was a strange sense of nostalgia.

A kind of feeling that I knew what they were saying in spite of the fact that I couldn't hear anything from them. The words, the sentences, the statement. Slowly, scattered fragments entered my memory.

"Ah." My voice, involuntary as it was, echoed through the silence, but even then, the quiet remained undisturbed.

Unhindered and untainted, it was in this glass-like moment that I remembered.

This was the mission where I died.

The rumbling of the train began to slow down, signaling that I had reached my destination: the frontlines to the Western Front. My men began filing out of the rail car, but I stayed, watching as each of them stepped out. Memorizing their faces.

Viktoriya Serebryakov walked over and stood in front of me, smiling in that simple way of her. She extended a hand toward me. An offering. An end.

I placed my rifle into her hand, settling its weight on her. She looked curiously at me, perplexed at me. Even I was, since I didn't know if this would work in a dream, as I pulled the trigger.

~o~

My trigger finger twitched. A triggered response—one that I was hopelessly familiar with. As I slowly opened my eyes, I noticed that the right side of my vision was layered with a filter of red. The slow realization of what it was made me want to raise my hand to wipe it away, but I couldn't; my hands felt too weak and lethargic. I could feel myself swaying, my entire body jostling to the beat of thunderous steps. It took me a moment to realize that I was staring down at the back of a person. It took me another to figure out that I had been hoisted over the shoulder of my green-skinned captor like a sack of potatoes. I was starting to regain some control of my arms, though that was still tough. All I could do was try to blink the blood out of my eye, but that was of limited success. I was probably bleeding from my head, considering how much of a groggy headache that I had. I could probably get rid of my wounds with a healing spell, but he would definitely notice it and knock me out again.

Was this the newest style of forceful conversion that Being X had thought up? It seemed like if I didn't somehow escape, I would end up as a slave, food supply, or worse, breeding stock. These green-skinned fellows were called orcs, but they weren't the piggish comedic mobs that my countrymen portrayed them as. No, these were muscular beasts that barely retained the shape of a humanoid, instead being more like genetically modified steroid abusers with intense penchant for violence and mayhem. I wished that I was kidding or exaggerating, but this was the kind of setting that Being X brought me to. Moreover, the stories I had been told of the first and second war hadn't been nice ones. This was the very reason that I had chosen to train as a priestess. A cushy job in the rear, healing people for a generous salary and stationed far away from the flames of war. What wasn't there to like? With the amount of divine magic I had been giving off, it wasn't like they could ignore me. If I didn't choose the healing profession, then they would have probably forced me into a more offense oriented job like being a paladin.

Well, if it was going to turn out like this, then I probably would have chosen to train as a paladin. However, regret was something that could be done after surviving. The first order of the work flow process was to identify the goal, which was to escape. The second was to assess the situation. I was riding on the shoulder of an orc—probably the one who attacked me—and his hand was pressing me on my back, pushing my stomach firmly against his shoulder. The ride was slightly nauseating, but I had regained some of semblance of the mobility of my limbs though I wasn't in a situation to test that. Looking around, I could see that I was still in town since there were wooden buildings around me, though I didn't recognize them that well since they were burning. I couldn't see any more orcs from my limited angle, and I didn't hear any except a little bit in the distance and mixed in with screams. Or at least I think it was in the distance since I couldn't be sure if my hearing had damaged or not. Still, it was a risk I would have to take.

The next step was to come up with a solution. I had a bunch of support spells at my beck and call, but for offensive spells, there was only one: smite. However, was it enough? I had to target somewhere vulnerable. The orc-ish body consisted of massive amounts of flesh and muscles along with an enlarged bone structure. However, even though orcs had a tough body, there was one place in particular that was vulnerable enough and that I was close enough to. A plan quickly formed in my head.

Now, it was time for the hardest step: execution. I pushed myself off his back, swinging my body upward so I could place both hands on his face. The words traveled through my mind even as my hands began to light up. There was a loud roar, and then my world went upside down. He had thrown me, and I—spinning through the air enough that I couldn't tell right from left—slammed into the ground hard, rolling along as the cobblestone scraped my skin and clothes. By the time that I had come to a stop, I could barely hold in the burning acid in my throat.

Last step, verify. If it wasn't for my work ethics, I probably would have just turned my head and spewed out everything in my stomach. As it was, I turned my head and tried to focus through my spinning vision. It was hard enough to tell through the blurred and tilted sight, but I managed it after a couple of moments. He was floundering about, roaring loudly as his hands covered his eyes. It was a success, but I felt no reassurance, no desire to celebrate. It had given me time, but how much time, I didn't know, especially since he was roaring at the top of his lungs. You would think for a warrior species, they would be stoic, taking pain like a badge of honor, but I supposed it depended on the individual. As it was, it was making my next task harder.

I wasn't in the mood to go into another work flow process since it all came down to just one thing: escaping. Despite the pain and agony, I quickly ignited a flash heal on myself. Feeling the wounds mend and my head starting to hurt less, I endured through the remainder of the pain and pushed myself up. Clambering to my feet, I stumbled a bit, but I was close enough to the building that I used the wall to stabilize myself, despite how hot the heated wood felt. Still, I had to move, and I had move fast at that. Using the wall as a support, I began to stumble and run along it.

The roads were stained with blood and corpses, such that it was easy enough to slip, but before I could really take in the sight, I was forced to quickly slip into an alleyway. The smoke was heavier between the two burning buildings, stinging my eyes and forcing me to breathe into my sleeve. However, it was a small price to pay for the cover that the smoke afforded me as a group of three orcs stomped by, dragging their frightened captives. When one of the captive, a woman with half of her dress drenched in blood and bits, started screaming, the orc swung her and smashed her head against a nearby wall. Tossing the headless corpse aside as if it was a piece of trash, the group continued on with hardly a word. Only when they were out of sight did I finally raise my free hand. Light illuminated my surroundings for a moment as the flash heal renewed my abused lungs and watery eyes.

I was thankful for the fact that I didn't have to invoke any incantations out loud. Still, I waited and listened for a few more agonizing moments before I came up to the edge and peeked out both ways. Only when I saw that it was clear did I finally step out. Removing my soot-covered sleeve from my mouth, I tried to take a deep breath, but I ended up coughing, as if I was trying to cough up pieces of my aching lungs. Not that there was anything that came out except saliva and maybe a bit of stomach acid. Spitting it out for good measure, I breathed in desperately. It would have been nice to hit myself with another flash heal, but the incantation for it was scattered in my head; I had to wait for it to re-piece itself before I could use it again. It was a weird state of being, and it took awhile initially for me to get used to the sensation when I first learned how to cast spells since it felt a lot like a small part of my brain being scrambled. Still, as a spell caster of supposedly divine spells, it was a necessary feeling.

If I was found, there was no question that any of them could crush me with one hand. However, just because things seemed hopeless didn't mean that there wasn't any solution. In fact, in a sweep like this, the best strategy was to hide in the already swept portion. Where was that? Obviously, that would be the center of town, the place that was hit the hardest. It was also the location I was knocked out and captured at. The easiest solution would have been to find a nice house and basement to hide in, but the fact of the matter was, given how peaceful this town was, they had decided to build each house closer than would be allowed in any fire safety regulations just to fit within the confines of the surrounding forest. Not that they had any fire safety regulations in the first place, which hadn't exactly been the best idea for infrastructure, seeing as how nearly all of the buildings in sight were on fire. This was why city planning should have been left to the professionals, but considering that this was originally a village that organically grew into a town on the very edges of the kingdom of Lordaeron's territory, I probably should say that it would be a surprise if they actually could get a professional to do it. Still, that begged the question of how they have avoided a fire from a cooking accident or a lightning strike for this long.

If I remembered correctly, from the signs that weren't already burning, I needed to head further for awhile and then take a left at Bob's Guns. Honestly, I would have liked to take a rifle from there while I was at it, but the guns were of the flintlock variety. The dwarves certainly weren't going to part with their most up-to-date weaponry to humans so the kind that Bob had still required gunpowder and a lead ball to be dropped into the muzzle. I had some practice with using a flintlock pistol, but who would let me own one of these volatile weapons? Especially since I was one of the few priestess in the town, despite me being only an apprentice. They would rather escort me everywhere instead of risking me blowing myself up by using too much gunpowder by accident. That was also the exact reason why I would be taking a wide berth around the store, much less going inside it. There hadn't been any large explosions yet despite the fact that there were barrels of gunpowder stored inside the store which made it a ticking time bomb. With my luck, it would probably blow up the moment I step inside.

I was jolted out of my thoughts as I ducked into a nearby burning building, making sure to keep away from the flames on the walls. It felt like my skin was being cooked, but I ignored it since the first degree burns were only temporary with my spell repertoire. Only when the orc rider on his wolf flew by did I move out. My clothes were heated, burnt and ragged, stinging my skin to the touch. The coolness of the air only served to bring my pained senses to the edge. Some would say that it was better to save my mana for a more serious injury, but the pain itself was dulling my mind so that was reason enough to use another flash heal.

As I made my way through the streets and alleyways, I spotted blood stains and randomly severed limbs far more than I saw corpses. However, it wasn't like they weren't plentiful. The town was a sizable one, but it was by no means large in comparison with Tokyo or even the capitol of the Empire, Berun. Still, I could recognize more than a few of the corpses or at least, those who weren't mutilated. On the right edge of the road, lying on his side with half his body bisected and his entrails slipping out was the baker who always gave me a free loaf of bread on the weekend, hoping to curry favor with an up and coming healer.

Impaled on one of the wooden spikes of a fence was a seamstress who—oh, she was still alive. Wait, no, that was just a death twitch. I held back my grimace as I turned my eyes away and moved on.

There was no real purpose in remembering them at the moment anyways. It was just a distraction, especially when I needed to concentrate. Looking up, I could see long trails of smoke rising to the skies from the various burning buildings. One of the rules of raiding and pillaging was that if you didn't want your raid to be noticed, then you shouldn't set everything on fire. As it was, reinforcements and rescue was bound to come; they couldn't just ignore something like this. I just needed to make it to the center and hide until they arrive.

I ducked into another burning building, making sure to keep near the doorway. The house was already falling apart, and while I could hide better further it, it was also more likely that a flaming wooden beam would drop on me, and I would burn to death. That would be an ignoble death. Not that there was a difference to me since I was avoiding every type of death. However, that was when I heard the stomping getting closer. I kept still.

It should have passed by already, but I could hear it getting closer. The fear was getting to me, but unlike other people, I kept handle on my rationality. If I ran now, I would simply be exposing myself and getting myself killed. That was why I stood still even as the orc raider stepped through the doorway. His head turned my way, and I could a burnt sear across his face that went over his closed left eye. The pupil in his right eye swiveled to me.

"There you are."

He grabbed my neck roughly and slammed me against the wall. Once, twice, trice. The impact went through my back and shoulders, and I could feel my thoughts disappearing with the flashes that scattered my vision. When my thoughts became my own again, I vaguely realized that I was screaming. He was holding me up as he rubbed the blade of his axe against my side, as to slowly saw through my rib cage. More that that, he was grinning. I raised my hand to try to cast smite or my healing spells, but every time I tried, he sawed a bit harder and a bit to the side—flaying another part of my skin and muscles—causing my concentration to divert.

As if tired of the game, the orc dropped me to the floor. Before I could do anything, he stomped on the biceps of my left arm and then my right, shattering the flesh and bone. Screams were already my trade currency, and I was nearly bankrupt by that time. I was barely aware of my surroundings as he dragged me outside by my hair, onto the already stained cobblestone street. The streaks of blood I left behind marked my passage, but I felt detached from it. I was barely conscious when his head dropped right next to mine, his sole dead eye staring into my own glassy ones.

I felt someone cradle my head, even though I could barely move it. Still, as they turned my head, I could see a stock of long blond hair, standing over me.

"She's still moving."

"Death hasn't taken her yet, millord. She's the last of the town's clergy."

"Then I'll handle this one."

A wash of warmth flooded through me, and I felt my tenuous grasp on awareness fade with it. That was, until I felt a sharp pain on my cheek, bringing me to wakefulness. Another slap brought me to attention, though my vision remained blurry.

"Wake, healer. Your townsmen need you." I could feel a hand pushing up my chin, forcing me to look into icy sapphire eyes. "I must push on, but Strahnbrad needs you now, more than ever. There's work to be done."

I could feel my fists clenching as I tried to force myself through the haze. On my mind wasn't anything about the town. No, I was focused only on escape, on my survival. Despite the pain, I focused my fury since this dire situation could only have been the work of Being X. I forced myself to sit up, even though I could barely tell one person from the next. While my body felt a little better now, my head felt like military-grade parade trumpets were blaring right next to me.

"She's strong, this one, but her fatigue is real. She's no good to us like this. You, take her back. As for the rest, with me! We'll sweep the orcs from this town once and for all."

The loud cheers didn't do anything to help my headache as I felt myself being lifted in armored arms and cradled. Even as I felt myself being carried away, my consciousness slowly faded out.

~o~

Author's note: This starts at the beginning of Warcraft 3.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

I was born during the first war. When I opened my eyes, when I could finally think despite the fact that it shouldn't be possible with an undeveloped brain, it was to find myself clutched to my mother's chest as she ran. If it had been any other infant, they would have cried out incessantly at the bumpy and nauseous ride. As it was, I simply cried out normally since it was an uncontrollable physiological response. When I looked up to see her face for the first time, I only had a moment to memorize her features—long blond hair and pale brown eyes—before a thrown axe buried itself into back of her head, breaking the whole thing apart like a smashed pumpkin. I was thrown when she fell, rolling and crying. And then I was scooped up by another running woman.

Knights in shining but battle-worn armor rode past us on their horses, spearheaded by an older man who I would later learn was the legendary hero, Anduin Lothar. By the end, she had carried me to safety. However, she didn't survive the infection. Priests and mana were in short supply, and I was soon passed off from arm to arm. Faces flashed by, but they held little meaning to me.

Even now, I still wasn't sure if that first woman had been my mother. Every time I pictured her face, I could only really remember two features—long blond hair and pale brown eyes—and that sight would only last a moment before I find myself seeing her caved-in head all over again. At the time, all I could think about was…

That being born on a battlefield could only be the trademark work of Being X! If not, why would I be here? In fact, why was there even a second resurrection in the first place? Didn't he say that it would only be once and never again? Or rather, should I say: as expected of a liar who proclaims himself a god?

Still, as an infant, those thoughts were hardly the only ones that filled my undeveloped brain. A variety of errants thoughts filled it during my helpless state including thoughts about the torturous journey and the blood that had been laid on my lap once again. That was, when I wasn't dealing the unstoppable feelings of hunger and sleep. At the time, I didn't really know that the Orc Horde was rampaging across the entire continent. Well, I didn't even know what an orc was besides a vague sense of their fictional counterpart, but these weren't the sex-crazed experience point mobs that the internet portrayed them as. No, the best way to describe them was if you were to combine a few people together into one huge steroidal mass of flesh and violence. That wasn't even getting into the other monsters that inhabited this world like the trolls who constantly encroach on humanity's territory.

It was another world engulfed in war. As if humans killing other humans wasn't enough, now there were many different species altogether. Living harmoniously was an awful joke.

It made sense, right? With Being X's sense of escalation, I imagined that if there was ever a third reincarnation, it would be a world on the brink of destruction from an apocalyptic tide of giant insects. Even worse, I would probably be stuck as a grunt on the frontlines of a suicidal plan to take back a city that contains a volatile weapon of mass destruction that could be used against the insect's underground hives. No, a peaceful world was never in the cards. At least, not with him at the helm.

Of course, no matter how much I cursed him in my mind, he never once appeared before me in those formative years. From an unknown destroyed locale and nameless dead parents, I was brought to Stormwind City. It seemed that an orphanage was a part of Being X's repertoire, enough that I wished he would hire a team of highly paid advisers to properly guide him into ways to avoid repetition. A technique you used last time wasn't necessarily going to produce better results this time. Yet, there I was, growing up in an overcrowded orphanage in the capital city of Stormwind, surrounded by wailing children. Confusing, wasn't it? That the capital city had the same name as the kingdom. Putting that aside, three years passed me by. Enough time for me to move around and start displaying my intelligence enough for them to allow me to read some early childhood language books.

Enough time for the Horde to sack Stormwind. I had been reading a book when the bells sounded and I was snatched up by a running staff worker. The city was already broken, shattered, and burning by the time most of the children were gathered. The king was dead, and the entire city was fleeing in a stampede of smoke, ash, and blood. Even carried as I was, I could still see as the soldiers fought their way to the harbor with the civilians behind them, often times failing. A large group of children demanded a large group of footmen to guard them, whether by chivalry or orders. It mattered less when orc raiders leaped into the inner circle, slaughtering children and soldiers alike. I exchanged hands several times, but I was eventually brought to safety.

Thankfully, even on overcrowded ships, there was always space for kids. That was one of the benefits of being a toddler. The living conditions weren't ideal and the stench was beyond words, but the sight that greeted me when I looked over the wooden rails on the sides of the ship was that of a massive exodus. Ships of all shapes and sizes were sailing in an enormous cluster, though a few of them were already in flames. Despite that, the number of ships as well as the people I could see crowding the decks of them exceeded what I originally thought a medieval society could have for a population. From there, the ships sailed toward the north where the subcontinent of Lordaeron was. It took several months of travel, and the dead kept piling on. I didn't have to worry so much since I was young enough that I got prioritized during food distribution, but I saw plenty on my ship alone that starved to death or threw themselves overboard. Nobody blinked a eye at it after awhile.

When the exodus finally reached the shores of Lordaeron, I was shuffled off along with batches of refugees to towns and villages along Hillsbrad Foothills. It was nestled in between two kingdoms, such that if danger was coming, it would have to go through those kingdoms before it would affect us. Somehow, I ended up in an orphanage in Strahnbrad. It wasn't a place of starving children or flagging finances so thankfully, it wasn't a repeat of the desperate times in my previous life. In fact, it was relatively well off, supported by the township and its people. It was a honestly a quiet life.

Even the second war that some people feared came and passed by with hardly a whisper to the town. It was only later that I found out that it was through the kingdom of Alterac's treachery that allowed the Horde to stealthily pass through the mountains and directly assaulted the capital of Lordaeron. In a way, that act of treason had saved the town from being overrun by the orcs' warbands. I was six years old by the time the second war ended with the Horde being crushed and scattered, with Stormwind being retaken. Many of the refugees left to rebuild the city and their lives. I stayed, though, since I had no real connection to that place, and it was a relatively dangerous frontier. That wasn't to say that things didn't change around here from its former safe haven status.

In retaliation for Alterac's betrayal, their government was dissolved, though the problem was that nothing replaced it afterwards. The former kingdom dissolved into anarchy. With Strahnbrad bordering this chaotic territory, it was inevitable that it would get involved in the mess. Yet, even then, it was still safer than Stormwind. A refugee population from Alterac grew the small town into a big one, with Strahnbrad changing from a trade town between two kingdoms to a sort of frontier town where bands of adventurers made it their home base. Whether it was to bring justice to the abandoned kingdom or to plunder its ruins, there were plenty that came through Strahnbrad. It seemed like an easy enough life, but of course, I knew that a certain unknown being wouldn't let me rest that easily.

I needed to make preparations, and I was ready to put in the effort. What I wasn't ready for was to have Dalaran mage recruiters tell me that I didn't have enough arcane aptitude. That had stunned me, and for a time, I wondered if I should start training in the sword or bow. Later, a group of the clergy found me when one of their relics reacted to the divine energy I gave off. With that kind of potential and a lack of actual parental guardianship, I was pretty much carted off to the city of Stratholme in the north where the institutes for paladins and clerics were located. I chose to become a priestess.

Hm? Why not become a paladin? That was simple. Paladins were half-expected to join the Knights of the Silver Hand whose sole mission was to fight evil wherever they find it. Essentially, that would be carting myself off across the entire continent, dealing with this crisis or that crisis. Hadn't I learned from my previous life that it was a pointless endeavor? I would rather show my aptitude from the back lines, get some contributions, and be offered a place to stay in the capital city as a royal healer. If the Horde couldn't defeat the capital city of Lordaeron, then it wasn't like there would be any other challenger on that scale so it should be the safest place on the continent. In order to accomplish my goal of living a safe city with a prestigious and wealthy job, I studied diligently. Despite not really believing in the Light, the spells came easily enough to me. Well, it wasn't like it was that hard for people to at least believe a little bit in it since it was an abstract concept rather an a megalomaniac self-proclaimed god.

I was offered apprenticeships, but I chose to head back to Stahnbrad for awhile to gather some accomplishments. It was a safe enough town, only bothered occasionally by bandit raids that almost never succeeds. What was more important was that it had a vibrant population of adventurers who still come to the town to use it as a staging base to launch expeditions into the ruins of the Alterac kingdom since there were still many rumors of numerous hidden treasures to be plundered. The amount of casualties from adventurers wasn't light so there was plenty of work for me, not to mention that I made connections with veteran adventurers, some of whom had connections to the capital. All in all, it was a relatively easy and safe workplace.

Now, it wasn't so safe anymore.

I took my dimly glowing hand off of the man's head, even as he profusely gave his thanks and his platitude towards the Light. The previous woman I had attended to barely acknowledged me, so distraught by what she had experienced, but that was reasonable since most of them were. Looking up from my work, I could people raging, families mourning, and even the children sitting listlessly, lifelessly. A quick head-count showed that only little more than a third of the town remained. The rest were either dead or taken.

"Lady Tanya." Turning my head, I found a single footmen standing at attention. Despite the blood and dents that marked his armor, he remained oddly tense in my presence despite his obvious fatigue. I nodded for him to continue. "The prince wishes to speak with you."

Of course, I couldn't refuse that. I didn't want to refuse that. This town was on its last leg, and maybe they could rebuild it, but I wouldn't be staying here. I would probably be returning to Stratholme, but it was best to make a connection to the next king of Lordaeron, especially since the capitol city was my goal. I followed him through the camp to the other side where a series of military tents had been erected. He led me to the largest one in the center of all of that.

The footman nodded to the two guards standing at attention as one of them pulled opened the flap of the entryway while the other announced my presence. Walking into the opening, I found Prince Arthas, sitting in a simple chair, wiping down his already clean warhammer with a rag. He wore an armor of silver and blue with gold trimmings along with a blue cape attached to his over-sized pauldrons. A intense frown was on his lips and his brow was furrowed, and they didn't soften when he looked up.

"I have heard that you originally hailed from Stormwind."

It was a statement, not a question, but I still replied with: "Yes, Prince Arthas."

"You have dealt with the worst of the casualties. Your townsmen can hold until reinforcements are sent to relieve them," he said. "The orcs have taken the men, women, and children to the Alterac mountains. We mean to go after them, but my men will require your support for the coming battle. Do I have it?"

Even though this was a question, I could see in his steely blue eyes that there was no refusal for this. Not any without consequences, at least. In fact, I had a feeling that if I refused, he would blame me for anything bad that happens to his soldiers, and that would only result in me probably having to flee to Stormwind. Even if I put aside how dangerous that place was, considering the relationship they had with Lordaeron, it would still be tough for me to get a prestigious position there. In a sense, if I didn't want to destroy my own future, I had to go. If I had to go, I might as well go all the way.

"Yes, Prince Arthas! I will do my best to ensure that we will win this battle no matter the cost. The orc threat has to be eliminated at all cost, for the future of Lordaeron!"

For the first time since I arrived, Arthas smiled, one that seemed to reach his eyes.

"The fate of Lordaeron rests on brave men and women just like you. Stand with me then. We'll purge this threat from the face of Azeroth."

"By your command, my liege!" I saluted in the way that I remembered how the soldiers I saw did it.

"That's a formal way of addressing me. Most simply say my lord or their own variation of it," Arthas said, settling his warhammer across his lap. "Do you have a last name?"

"Degurechaff." Technically, I didn't. Or if I did, I didn't know it. Though, nobody from Stormwind was around that knew about me, much less my origin.

"I have not heard of your family's name, but the times of upheaval have been harsh on those of Stormwind's blood." He closed his eyes for a moment. I waited silently for half a minute before he opened his eyes and looked at me. "Go and take your rest. We leave in a hour's time, and I need you to be at your best. Do you have a horse?"

I shook my head.

"You will ride with one of my knights, Falric," Arthas said. "Prepare yourself. We must ride fast and hard; the journey will not be an easy one."

I bowed my head and left the tent.

~o~

The thing about horses was that they weren't smooth rides. They were faster and less stamina-wasting than walking, but they were hardly the comfortable rides that cars were. The knight that rode with me told me to "Hold on tight" so I did just that. As tight as I could, which wasn't an inconvenience to him since he was wearing armor, and the muscles in my arms were definitely not solid enough to even make an impression in that despite how tightly I was holding on. Well, even if he wasn't wearing armor, I would imagine it would give him more joy than any real inconvenience.

Thankfully, we arrived in twenty minutes, a shorter amount of time than I though it would take. Reaching the encampment, I saw far more soldiers that I thought would be there. Many multitudes of tents lined my sight, and there were plenty in shining armor who were milling about. We got off our horses—the knight helping me down from the horse—and proceeded in a procession toward the other end of the camp. It took awhile with plenty of spectators, though no one stopped the procession. It was only when we reached a location with a more senior looking knight that the procession stopped. Holding his hand out to stop the rest from proceeding with him, Arthas walked up to the older knight.

"Good timing, lad. I have sent in two of my best knights to parley with the orcs. How fares the town?"

"The attack was already underway when I got there, Uther. I saved as many as I could, but the rest were taken," Arthas said. "We have to go in there and reclaim them before their fates are sealed."

"No, we will wait. I trust in my men."

That…

"Sir, you shouldn't have sent them in." Despite that it wasn't a conversation that I should intercede in, that between royalty and an obviously high ranking knight, I couldn't hold myself back. Maybe it was from Uther's tone and cadence, but it reminded me of the military structure that I had been used to in my previous life, one in which I could state my opinion more freely. However, right after I said it, I knew it was a mistake. I wasn't even sure what I was thinking, but interrupting a discussion between a CEO and the president of the company you work for was obviously something that shouldn't be done. Even as I was regretting it, I could feel both of their attention snap to me.

Arthas turned his head to glance at me, giving me a scathing look."It is not your place to—"

"Let her speak." Uther gave me a more neutral but kindly look. "So what were you saying, lass?"

"I…I'm sorry." I bowed my head to show an apologetic gesture, though it was actually to hide my face. I wasn't sure what expression was on my face, but I was gritting my teeth hard. I messed up. I messed up badly. "I spoke out of turn."

"No, please, go on. Raise your head." At Uther's word, I quickly shifted my expression. Waiting a couple of moments just to make sure that it was rearranged correctly, I then raised my head to see Uther watching me expectantly. "Sometimes, looking at problems and situations from another angle is refreshing."

I knew right then and there that I had messed up worse than just bad. He was expecting something of me, but I barely knew anything about him so modifying my response to his temperament was out of the question. If I said a statement too mild, I would be dismissed as someone whose thought processes were not worth listening to. If I went too far, I could offend him and cause him to make a bid for my removal. My only chance was either to correct guess the moderate answer or to go all out until I was out of his offended zone. I decided to go with the latter.

"They aren't going to come back," I said slowly as I licked my dry lips. "The orcs are going to murder them."

"And why do you say that?" Uther had a kindly look on his face, but it made me more aware. He was probably thinking about how those two were his best knights so they could get themselves out of trouble, and to a point, he was right. They could probably get out of their sticky situation if this was a normal situation, but he sent them into the middle of an orc camp. The flaw in his plan was that he didn't seem to understand who his target audience was.

"This probably isn't the first time that this particular band of orcs raided towns and villages. If you don't mind me asking, exactly how many have they sacked?"

"Many," Arthas answered grimly.

I didn't reply and simply turned my eyes to Uther.

"I know what you're implying, lass, but we must extend them the chance. If passion turns to fury and bloodlust, then what makes us any better than the creatures that we slay?" Uther stared at me with the full conviction of his beliefs. However, I knew full well where conviction and belief led to. "I know the atrocities that you have seen. That all of you have seen. But vengeance cannot be a part of what we must do. If we allow our base emotions to rule us, we'll become as vile as the orcs."

And those who don't know and reflect on history are doomed to repeat it. Those were the words that I wanted to say—wanted to say so very badly, but I held myself back.

"You look like you have something to say, lass. Say it," Uther said. "Don't think of me as a superior, but as someone who's willing to listen."

I glanced at Arthas, and the prince nodded, somehow looking pleased that I looked his way for permission. Slowly, I began my argument.

"The orcs… The Horde had rampaged across both Stormwind and Lordaeron. Those that remain are remnants of that, and those that surrendered were the ones sent to the internment camps. What you have here is the remainder: the most violent and vicious of the lot. Lord Uther, in my humble opinion, that is who you are dealing with. You aren't dealing with humans or elves or dwarves who you can reason with; you are dealing with beasts who rely on instinct and bloodlust."

"Be that as it may, we will still…" Uther trailed off as he turned at the sound of two horses running across the the plain. These two horses, armored in metal and draped with the colors of blue, were riderless. His brow furrowed in consternation. "Damn. These orcs will never surrender."

I frowned. It was a waste. A grievous waste of skilled manpower, but he was ignoring that fact. That, more than anything, ate away at me. I couldn't help myself from turning my eyes away, though I tried to be discreet about it.

"She was right after all," Arthas said. "We need to get in there and destroy the beasts."

"Stay your hand. Both of you." Why was I included? As if hearing my mentally stated question, Uther walked up to me, even as the footmen and knights around me slowly backed away. I was alone as I stared back at his wizened gaze. "I can see it. The Light is strong in you. You have a potential for much, but your youth blinds you the reality that we live in. I do not sense anger or fury in you like with Arthas, but your cold rationality may be your undoing. That is something that I do not wish to see."

And idealism was better? I, of course, didn't vocalize this.

"Without heart and faith, it'll destroy you from within. Arthas." Uther turned his head to look at the prince. "Take her under your wing."

"Me?" Arthas looked stunned.

"Her potential in the Light is as great as yours. And even if she did not have it, her ice will temper your fury, and your determination will lighten her scarred soul."

"I…I'm not ready for that responsibility."

"Do you want to lead the assault?"

"What? Well, yes, of course."

"Then take her with you," Uther said. "I expect much from you."

"I won't fail you."

"I know you won't, lad."

Wasn't I going to have a say in this?

~o~

In the end, I went with it anyways. Except for some support staff and their guards, the rest of the base was going to be participating in the attack. Uther was going to stay back at base to guard it since the shortage of manpower would be severe enough that raids on the base was a very distinct possibility. As one of the few healers available, it was obvious that I was going to have to join the assault no matter what I wanted. That was why, in the meantime, I went gung-ho about going around the camp and making connections. People who would help me if they see me in trouble or even throw themselves in front of me to take a sword slash for me. Well, considering that I could heal them afterwards, it wouldn't be as drastic of an action like it sounded. Unless, of course, they died instantly from the wound.

"Tanya." I turned my head at the call and found Prince Arthas staring down at us. I quickly got up from my seat, brushing the wrinkles out of lap. While I was taking a moment to make myself look a little bit more presentable, the knight who I was chatting with quietly slipped away. Well, he didn't seem like he would be a good meat shield anyways. Once I was done, I stood at attention.

"Yes, my prince?"

"Your address for me changes by the hour," Arthas replied. He looked at me from top to bottom with a smile. If there was a definition for Prince Charming, his picture would probably displayed prominently on it, as if he was born to play the role. This seemed to be just that kind of world. "Will a simple healer's robe be enough?"

"I wouldn't mind armor."

"No, wearing a full plate without having trained in it would be more of a hindrance than protection. Some leather jerkins might help, but I have experienced an orc's strength, and it's not a trifle to be disregarded," he said. "The robe will be fine, but you must stay close to me."

As much as I would have liked to say that was a reassurance, it was actually the complete opposite. That was because kings in this world didn't lead from the back. No, they led from the front. That would mean that, despite being a priestess, I would be heading straight into the frontlines where even a single slash of an orc's axe could bisect me in half. In any sense of strategy and tactics, healers would typically remain in the middle where they could be protected from all sides or at the back where they would be farthest from the enemy. Of course, Being X couldn't simply allow such a logical and rational strategy. It wouldn't fit his modus operandi.

"But Sire, wouldn't it be too dangerous there?"

"Do not worry. I'll be protecting you."

If he said that, there was nothing I could do. Refusing would be the same as saying that he couldn't protect anything, and with the arrogance that warrior royalty would usually have, I could say that if I refused, my future would go up in smoke.

"Then I'll go to the ends of the world with you, my liege. I might have been born in Stormwind, but my very essence belongs to Lordaeron! Forget just a simple band of orc raiders; not even the full might of the Horde would stop me from coming." So with tears of anguish in the corner of my eyes, I accepted his offer, hiding my complete and utter reluctance behind a facade of patriotism. If I was going there anyways, I was going to milk it for all it was worth. I felt a rough hand on my face and a thumb swiping at the corners of my eyes, making me squint at the touch.

"Your soul is obviously not of ice. Uther has you pegged wrongly, my lady. I can see clearly that your loyalty for Lordaeron overwhelms you. You will ride with me." Arthas turned and look out across the camp. "Sound the drums and rally to me, my men. We go to war!"

The camp exploded into a flurry of motion as men and women donned their armor and weapons, moving with speed between the tents. Horses were unleashed from their binds and brought to the front. Footmen gathered in neat rows, their captains shouting out orders endlessly on the cascade of noise. It took time, but the sight was impressive enough. Soon, there were columns of footmen, a line of archers at the back, and a stack of paladins and knights at the front with Prince Arthas sitting on his horse. If it wasn't obvious, I was sitting right behind him on that very same horse. He turned the horse so he could face the crowd.

"Sons and daughters of Lordaeron!" A cheer erupted from the crowd along with the banging of swords on shields and a stamping of feet. Arthas allowed the crowd time to settle before continuing to shout out his speech. "We stand here, more than a decade after the Horde was broken before our might. Today, a smaller orc-ish threat remains before us, one that strikes and slinks back into the shadows, even as they break village after village, town after town. This. Will. Not. Stand!" He raised his warhammer high above him. "We will mete out salvation to our imprisoned countrymen. We will mete out justice for our ruined homes. And we will mete out the vengeance for those souls that cry out for retribution. For our families, for the Light, and for Lordaeron and the Alliance!

The cheer that erupted was deafening, and if those shields weren't dented before, they probably were now.

"We. Go. To. War!" Arthas pulled his horse around and rushed ahead. I barely had time to wrapped my arms around him and hang on for my life.

"Wait, wait, wait! Don't leave your footmen and archers behind. They can't run as fast as your horse."

Thankfully, he could still listen to reason since he slowed down his horse.

Not that it made me feel any better, marching at the head of what was essentially an army to meet another army head-on. Was I to be forever cursed to be on the frontlines?

Damn you, Being X! If I could stick this staff into your head, I would do it without a moment of hesitation, you self-proclaimed fraud!


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

Dead at twenty years old. That was what they were going to put on my gravestone.

Even as Arthas helped me down from the horse, I couldn't help but despair at my future prospects. Being drafted wasn't the worst thing, but it wasn't the best thing either. The army was taking a break, but that was only because we were already in sight of the orc's encampment. We had emerged from the forest behind us, and I had no doubt that they knew we were coming. Across the long and grassy plain was the Blackrock Orc's camp, and it was already bustling with activity. There was some forestry to the sides, but the closer it came to the orc's camp, the more it became rigid hills and small mountains. The orc's camp itself was on an elevated platform, but the grassy plain was where the battle would be fought since the orcs weren't known for their patience or any real tendency for defense.

War was not something that was new to me. You could even say that a fight in this world was a little bit less scary since there wasn't bullets that could murder in a shot or two; somehow, the constitution of even the most average humans in this world was actually far above my previous worlds by a factor of several times. A sword slash on unarmored flesh by the average person would wound rather than delimb, so much so that it would probably take several shots from my mondragon rifle to take down a person. Supposedly, it was genetics and hereditary traits since my Stormwind blood was supposedly even hardier than my counterparts in Lordaeron. Putting that aside, it was a fact that I had experienced war and died in a war, so I knew war intimately.

But not to this scale.

As I took a look behind me, at the columns upon columns of footmen whom were now sitting down to rest under the afternoon's sun, it wasn't the fact that they were taking a break that was bothering me. No, it was the amount of soldiers which roughly numbered 1,200 men and women. This didn't even include any support staffs or supply line personnels. It was a pure army down to the last person, every noncombat personnel having been left back at our camp with Uther. A thousand of them were footmen, armored in full-plate with sharp and well-taken care of swords. The rest was a mixture of archers, knights, paladins, and sixty dwarven riflemen whom we picked up halfway through the journey. I wasn't sure why the dwarves were here or why they were fighting, but I admit that if I could have bartered for one of those flintlock rifles, I probably would have. Unfortunately, I had no real connections to introduce me to them as well as no status to simply just walk up to this.

Now, getting back to the issue at hand, this army wasn't even a legion or anything like that. No, this was more of a speedy compact strike force, as ridiculous as that sounded. How could this kind of number have anything to do with the word: compact? That was because the population was actually rather high due in part to their strengthened physicality and a ridiculous abundance of resources. Apparently, this land had an overabundance of metal, which was why almost the entire army could have their own full plate armor, and that wasn't even mentioning the magically enhanced armor or the dwarven-made ones. Well, considering our enemies, we practically needed every advantage to survive. I turned my eyes forward to the orc encampment across the plain.

There were orcs gathering in front of their camp's entrance, but they weren't moving forward from there. Despite how small it seemed from this distance, the scout had estimated their numbers to be over two thousand orc grunts. There were even a few warlocks spotted as well, though no precise count could be had. The problem was that these were Blackrock orcs, the very same clan that had led the Horde during the first two wars. Even though they were now just guerrilla remnants, they were still the most numerous of the scattered orc clans and the ones with the most connections to so-called demons. That meant that they would be stronger and far more crazed so once the battle started, they definitely wouldn't retreat for any reason. I would be surprised if there was even a single prisoner by the end of this.

Of course, this was all information that I had overheard, inferred, or asked about. The march here hadn't been short so there had been enough time. Again, I was no stranger to war, but my wars were done as part of a larger and wider front where, viewing it from the skies, I could see thousands or even tens of thousands fighting in the trenches and on the fields on a single portion of the front. Nor were these the wars of my original modern world where fighting was conducted in small squads with drone support. I remembered the meat grinders and slaughter fests, where the raining shells of artillery was the god of the battlefield. You either kept your head down or kept your magic shields up, and in the latter, I always had the advantage. Imperial technology created the Elenium Type 97 which was superior than the operation orbs of any other country, and when it was absolutely necessary, I could fall back on Elenium Type 95 even with all its flaws and connections to Being X. Death was always within reach, but I had safety nets.

The war I knew was an impersonal and unfeeling machine. I couldn't say that the warfare was the same here. The fighting done here was up close and personal, which was vastly different from the battlefield of indifferent gunfire that shot at any unlucky blur or the all-out might of the hammer of artillery that sundered all. The encounter that I had with just that one orc had made it abundantly clear about my mortality. I was thankful for healing spells since I probably would have died from shock and blood loss if it weren't for that. If a single orc could do that to me, what would a thousand orcs do? I suppressed the shudder that ran down my spine and gritted my teeth as I stared balefully across the plain. At the very least, standing out here in the open, I was glad for one thing in this world. What would that be? It didn't seem like snipers existed here. Well, at least, not any that I have seen or heard of, but I knew how dangerous assumptions were.

Turning my sight away, I walked over to where Arthas was standing with his captains, Falric and Marwyn. The captains' armors, instead of silver, were golden in color along with a winged helmet. If this had been my previous world, they would have been the first to be sniped.

"If we strike them here, they would have no chance to retaliate," Captain Falric said as he moved the sword in his hand, scratching out a long line in the dirt. As there were plenty of shapes and line already there, I couldn't make sense of the mess at all.

"No, no, no." Captain Marwyn used the tip of his own sword to cross out the line. "The orcs aren't that patient. You're applying intelligence to savage creatures."

"The scouts mentioned that there were warlocks. They have at least half a brain, and the Blackrock orcs revere their warlocks so they would listen to them."

"You're thinking too highly of the orcs, Falric."

"And you're underestimating them, Marwyn."

"Enough." Arthas leaned on the handle of his warhammer, the top head of which was placed directly on the ground. "I have decided."

Both of the captains backed away as the prince walked forward and stomped on the dirt. He brushed the ground with his armored foot, making sure to clear the drawings completely. Once that was done, he held out his hand, to which Falric placed his own sword into it. Arthas began drawing in the dirt with the sword.

"This is what we will do." On the ground, the sword's tip quickly drew out a rectangle. "If the orcs won't come out on their own, I'll draw them out."

"My lord," Marwyn said. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm a Paladin of the Silver Hand. Do you expect me not to lead?"

"Then allow one of your other paladins to do the job," Falric said.

"I'd not cower while one of my brothers do the job for me. I said I'll go, and my word on this is final."

As I stood quietly among them, I drew glances from Marwyn and Falric, though they said nothing about my presence. As for Arthas, I wasn't even sure he even noticed me since I was standing slightly behind to his right.

"Once the orcs are out of their camp, all of our knights will charge.." Arthas drew a line downward. "We will go two ranks deep into their formation. Our second line will fill in the gaps and replace any injured from our first line."

At the point where the sword's tip dipped into the ground, he drew two horizontal lines, as if they were walls made out of steel.

"The footman, archers, and rifleman will be split in half. Falric, you will command the left wing. Marwyn, you will command the right wing. Both of you will head into the forest on your respective side of the plains and move forward through them. Only when the cavalry charge has been blunted and the orcs have fully committed their entire force will you emerge at their flanks and hammer them. Crush them! Leave not a single one of these foul beasts alive. Once that is done, we will move forward together and decimate the remainder."

"A sound plan, Prince Arthas, but I only fear that we will not get to our knights in time," Falric said. "It could become…difficult and put you in unwarranted danger."

"We will hold. Have faith, Falric. The Light will lead us to victory."

I could feel something very familiar arc down my spine. It was that feeling where you know that what was in front of you was another suicide mission. While I did think that I would have to be on the frontlines, I thought that I would at least be on my feet along with the rest of the army. That way, I could hide behind meat shields, even in the midst of the frontlines. However, what kind of meat shields could I have when the number of horsemen was a little more than a hundred, and that included the paladins. Worse, I would be on the same horse as Arthas, seated right behind him.

If the worst case scenario happened, I wouldn't even be able to run away. If I were to run, I would be labeled a coward and jailed since it would be pretty obvious since I was the only priestess in this army. Even if I fought with all my might, if the prince somehow died, I would be blamed for not supporting him properly, labeled as a traitor, and executed. So not only did I have to ensure my own survival, I had to make sure that he survived as well. My only chance to prevent all of this was to sway him away from this course of action.

"My liege." I saw a faint jolt run through him, but Arthas played it off as casually as he could, simply turning his head and nodding once in acknowledgment. The captains, fortunately, didn't really object to my interruption and waited patiently, though I wasn't quite sure why. "There's no reason for you to lead the charge. Your captains are knights too so they could take command of the cavalry."

"No," Arthas simply replied. "How can my men—my people—respect me if I cower behind them. Men like Lothar, Turaylon, and King Llane would never lead from the back."

"But my lord, the risk to your safety—"

"Isn't that what you are for?" Arthas looked amused.

"But I'm only one priestess."

"That was a joke. My paladins will be helping out with healing as well so you won't be alone. They are veterans of the Silver Hand," Arthas said before his smile turned into one that I recognized as him trying to be reassuring, not that it was working much in this case. "Don't worry. We will keep you protected, so focus on your healing spells. The battle will be over before you realize it."

I shyly placed a hand over my mouth to hide my overly clenched teeth. The pressure that I was putting on my gums from grinding my teeth hard was enough that I could faintly taste blood.

"Oh? Did I make you laugh, my lady?" At his question which he laced with what I supposed would be a ladykiller smile—I couldn't really tell—I forcefully loosened my jaw and closed my mouth. Slowly, I lowered my hand.

"You did…something," I replied vaguely with a perfunctory smile. "But of course, I will strive to exceed your every expectations, my liege."

"That's what I like to hear." Arthas turned his gaze to his captains. "After the men are rested and if the orcs do not strike first, we will initiate the plan. Failure will not be accepted."

"Failure means death so it's not like we have a choice," Falric joked while the other two knights gave a small chuckle at his words. "Still, you can count on us. We won't fail you, Prince Arthas."

"That goes double for me, my lord." Marwyn saluted.

Even as the two captains left, I stayed behind. As I waited quietly for Arthas to address me, I was contemplating how to get out of this sticky situation.

"Is there something more you need to talk to me about?"

"Yes…" I was stalling a bit as I let the word linger in the air. "Will a hundred really be enough?"

"I didn't realize you wanted to manage more of my men's health," Arthas said in a playful tone.

"That's not what I meant," I said. "I don't think I can pay attention to that many soldiers and keep them alive."

"Lady Tanya, they're knights, not children. If they get wounded enough, they'll shout out for help. My paladins will oblige when they can, but in the chaos of battles, there will be more calls than spells answering them. That is where you come in. Eleven paladins, including myself, as well as a dedicated healer will be more than enough to keep a hundred knights in good shape. Or at the very least, in decent enough shape to keep fighting."

"I…see…" I knew this wasn't working so I changed tactics. "But what I don't understand is why you have to personally go."

"Are you worried about me, my lady?" For a moment, there was a cocky grin on his face, but it soon dissolved into a more serious one. "History only remembers the valiant and the brave."

"No, history only remembers the victor."

"Would you have me lie to my people and to the entirety of Azeroth? I am the future king of Lordaeron, and I will uphold the honor of the Menethil legacy."

"You can't uphold it if you're dead." What I didn't say was that he was also putting me at risk. "You're already famous for your accomplishments. There's no need to put another target sign on your back."

"Their focus must be on me and my knights if the plan is to succeed, and I will not be defeated by a random band of orcs." Arthas waved at me dismissively. "I have heard enough. Go rest. There is little time before the battle begins, and I expect you to be at your very best."

Holding back my sigh, I bowed my head and took my leave. Even as I walked away, I could feel his stare burning into my back. Did I push too far? In all honesty, I didn't think that I pushed much at all. An employee's duty was to bring to light any issue that might have been overlooked by their superior, but the final decision would be left in the higher up's hands. There was nothing else that I could do, and that was what was frustrating. If I had a plan of action that was better, I wouldn't hesitate to share it, but my knowledge and training were for modern tactics and warfare where the scale of people was smaller while the weaponry and range were far deadlier. When the "Time to kill" was greater, that was when skill became far more of a factor. That changed both strategy and tactic greatly enough that I had to reevaluate my knowledge.

It was unlikely a war university existed in Lordaeron. In any case, much of warfare relied on trickery and illusions, but I had a feeling that convincing Arthas to commit to that kind of thing was going to be a trial in and of itself.

~o~

I took a deep breath and checked my equipment once again. They had given me a set of battle robes, and it seemed like it normally wouldn't give much protection, but it was infused with some levels of magic to create a greater protection than what it would have had normally. How much magic? I wasn't quite sure, and they never really told me. Wearing it, I didn't feel much different than usual, except for the fact that, for some odd reason, my thighs were exposed. Apparently, the magic from the clothes would help protect the exposed parts of my body like my face, hands, thighs, and cleavage. I wasn't quite sure how it worked, but I couldn't argue against it, not when everyone I talked to affirmed that it indeed works and that was how it was supposed to be. Though, I swore that I noticed a few lingering looks, even though I never actually caught anyone in the act. This outfit was just plain ridiculous.

In my right hand, I held my battle staff that had an orb jammed to the top of it. When I tested it, it did amplify my magic in a rather rudimentary way, and it was in no way similar to the type of computation that my Operation Orbs used to do. In fact, there was barely any similarities at all, as if they were two vastly different things. Still, it was better than nothing.

Hanging off my left shoulder was a leather satchel, one that was lined with potions of both the health and mana variety. Since I was going to be behind their line, I was charged with holding the extra potions. It was heavy enough that I could feel the strain on my shoulder, but thankfully, it wasn't too much pressure. The weight of it would have been a trial for my previous bodies—and that included my original male Japanese one—but for this body born of Stormwind ancestry, it was far less strenuous. If I was running low on mana and feeling exhaustion from it, I could drink a mana potion, though too much of it at once would make anyone sick of it. The heath potions would be for handing out extras to the knights that had already used their own supply which they kept on their person or their horse.

So essentially, I was the support staff, the doctor, and the errand boy all at the same time. And this was supposed to be done in the midst of battle where—even though I would be behind the cavalry—any orc with a brain would probably notice the healer and aim to take me out first. I just had to hope that the demonic connection that corrupted their brains made them brain-dead enough that they wouldn't notice. Still, even to me, that was a faint and distant hope.

"Are your preparations finished, Lady Tanya?"

I nodded my head at the approaching form of the prince. While I wasn't used to the form of address, and I was pretty sure that he was only using it to be polite. Other nobles would have probably just called me a peasant. Still, it felt strange to be addressed as a lady, but at this point, my combined length of times in both female bodies was now comparable to the years that I lived in my original male body. It was also the proper terminology so it wasn't like I could complain about it. Or rather, even if I complained, would it change anything? It wasn't like I haven't experienced numerous periods by now, though thankfully, healing magic does help in that regards.

We made our way to his horse, and he helped me get onto it. Only after I was secure did he mount the horse himself. As he steadily drove the horse to the front, maintaining a slow pace, I could see the hustle and bustle of the soldiers as they reformed their formations, building into the columns that I had seen before. The footmen—the regular infantry—were armored in full plate mail that covered them from head to toe in the colors of silver and blue. On their left arm, they held a kite shield, and in their right hand was a longsword, currently unsheathed as they uniformly checked to see if there were any cracks or dents debilitating enough that the blade might shatter or fail in the midst of battle.

They were separated into the two attack wings as discussed yesterday. Just behind them were rows upon rows of archers, stacked together. They wore leather and chain mail, but in their hands, they held longbows. On Earth, a truly effective medieval archer would have had to be trained from a very young age to build up the right muscles, especially in the back, that would make them into an effective archer. Here, it felt like the genetics of Azeroth was just all around better since they were testing and pulling at the strings with an ease that shouldn't have been possible on anything but a turn of the millennium modern bow. A quiver of arrows was held to their backs by a strap that wrapped around their chest.

As for the dwarven riflemen, I could see them cloistered off in their own secular group behind our cavalry. They were checking their rifles, tinkering with them, as well as stuffing the many pouches they had stitched into the insides of their blue hooded cloaks. Underneath the cloaks, I could see glimpses of intricately designed metal armor along with many belts with their own sets of pouches cross-crossing over their front. If anything, it seemed like an excessive amount of equipment and ammunition, but considering that their inherent mobility was limited, it stood to reason that they compensated in other ways. They were practically storing an armory on themselves, and they were using the cloaks to protect their items from temperature and weather conditions like rain.

When Arthas moved the horse over to the front of the cavalry formation, I finally took in the sight of the knights. They were armored, that was true, but to not explain in detail was to not do the sight any justice. Comparing the armor of a footman to a knight's armor was like comparing a regular car to an armored jeep. They wore heavy and hulking full plate armor, the likes of which wouldn't even be possible to wear on Earth, yet their horses could bear the weight with a surprisingly amount of ease in conjunction with the heavy armor that the horses themselves were wearing. In their right hand, they held a long wooden lance that was raised upward so that its tip was facing the sky. Attached to their sides was a sheath that contained a large and lengthy sword that could only be considered as a claymore. There were differences in their swords from knight to knight, but the one thing that stayed the same was that they were very long as they were almost as tall as their wielder. The paladins were similar, though their armors were inscribed with symbols and runes. I wasn't sure if they were of the magical type or just plain decorations, but I assumed it was the former.

However, the composition of the forces was also blatant in regards to medieval bureaucracy. Despite this being essentially an army, there was a distinct lack of priests and mages. When one considered that they fell under the jurisdiction of another organization that worked in conjunction with the kingdom but not beholden to them, then it started to make sense why they couldn't be corralled into a quick response team. Well, a quick response team that consisted of more than a couple thousand. In a way, it made sense; the type of classes that could bring about what was essentially a worker's union would be the ones that required years of study and training. That wasn't to say that paladins weren't the same, but the Order of the Silver Hand was closely tied to the nation and acted speedily out of moral obligation. Still, while they could drag their feet, if there had been more time before the army had to leave, they probably would have been forced to lend their skilled laborers or face the wrath of the king.

"…and I'm part of that demand." It was a forceful drafting, but if I made use of this opportunity, the doors to the capital would be opened to me now rather than in twenty years. It was the once in a lifetime kind of deal that should have made me jump for joy and cry tears of happiness. However, when I looked behind me, I saw the knights riding in formation, their lances leaning against their shoulders so it was angled upward diagonally. When I looked to either side, I saw columns of footmen with stacked rows of archers close behind, all of them marching forth into the dimmed forest that surrounded the plains. It wasn't long before they vanished into the forest on either side, leaving only the knights along with the dwarven riflemen behind. "My lord, why are the Dwarves following us?"

"They are dragonslayers renowned for their skill and accuracy, despite using volatile gunpowder weaponry. Any orcs that get passed us will be taken care of by them so that the greenskins cannot turn around and pincer us."

"Dragonslayers? How did you convince them to help us?"

"I merely agreed to provide assistance in slaying a black dragon."

"Ah, I see—wait, are you insane?! That's a black dragon!"

"Is that any way to talk to your prince?" Arthas gave off a short laugh before he continued, surprising me in the process since he was letting my rebuke go unpunished. "It is the duty of the Alliance to slay any black dragon that is found. After they allied with the Horde in the second war, they have been made an enemy to all of Azeroth." An amused tone entered his voice. "As a priestess of the Light and a loyal citizen of Lordaeron, you will obviously be assisting in this endeavor."

"Is it too late to renounce my citizenship to Lordaeron?"

"Stormwind is still a part of the Alliance, thus your duty remains." He chuckled in amusement, and his blue pupils reflected his humor. "Worry not. The dragon is already dead. I went ahead and dealt with him myself with the dwarves' help. Why do you think my warhammer has this fiery glow to it." He raised his warhammer, showing a nearly transparent magical red orb that circled the hammer's head in an almost lazy manner.

There were so many things wrong with that statement that I didn't know where to begin. If a dragon was that easy, why would they even ask for his help? Wouldn't that make it seem like—to Arthas—the orcs were harder than a dragon? Going solely off of Arthas's words wasn't exactly the most ideal source of information, considering his pride and penchant for exaggeration. Emphasis on exaggeration. One of the worst kind of superiors were those that sends you on a suicidal mission, but tells you during the mission briefing that it would be a cakewalk. The only kind worse was the incompetent or those actively working against you.

I held in my sigh and took a look at my surroundings. Off to the side, if I stared closely enough at the line of trees, I could see movement through them. What was surprising was that the left and right wing were actually moving faster than us, but then again, Arthas was slowing down the pace of the horses so that the dwarves could keep up with ease. As we got closer, some of the knights got eager enough that they sped up and had to be told to get back into formation. While there was chatter among the knights and paladins, much of which was to ease the tension of the upcoming battle, the dwarves were more at ease, seemingly nonchalant about the prospect of battle, as if this was just a minor stroll to them. Looking at their flowing capes that seemed to move in uniform, it was almost like looking into a river of blue, each wave coming right after the other. Despite having only a little more than half the number that our cavalry knights had, they seemed far more used to working with each other and far more professional.

The approach to the orc's encampment was a slow and methodical, but I could feel the tension slowly become more and more invasive. The chatter was—conversation by conversation—dying out, and it wasn't hard to see why.

"Stop." Arthas held up his right fist to enforce his words. The knights pulled their horses to a halt. When the dwarven riflemen caught up, they too took a breather. When I looked to the front, around Artha's broad body and across the long green plain, I saw masses of orc warriors filtering out of their makeshift encampment, not in a rush but more like an arrogant stride that seemed to take us as less than a threat. They formed up into the bare minimum of what could be considered a military column, proceeding to posture and glare menacing at us, even with the relatively long stretch of land between us.

Adorning their hulking and heavily muscled green bodies were slabs of crudely cut sheets of metal that were strapped to them in a way that made me wonder why they were using a combination of ropes, belts, and drawstrings. That question was soon answered as I was able to make out more details. Much of their equipment was dented and stained with old blood, seeming more like war trophies that they had simply took off of their victims and embedded with animal teeth and tusks. If anything, only their weapons were maintained better, their mixes of swords and axes having a sharpened appearance despite the cracks and chips in their blades. The problem was that even though they were gathering in front of their camp, there were wooden barricades made from stacking together logs with sharpened tips that were aimed in our direction to prevent horsemen from charging in and to funnel traffic.

"Remember the plan." After handing over his lance for safekeeping and with those words hanging in the air to the surrounding knights, Arthas sent his horse into a trot. Seeing as I was sitting behind him, that meant that I was brought along for the ride As we got further out from the knights and closer to glaring orcs, I could feel a sense of tension and wariness enter me. They weren't above killing messengers, so it stood to reason that despite how they didn't show any true sign of aggression to our approach, we had to keep our guard up in case we needed to escape.

It was only when we reached halfway there that Arthas halted his horse, and we waited. Going any further was dangerous because that would be close enough to be in range of their warlocks. However, none came out to meet us, instead seemingly satisfied with staring at us mockingly. Arthas cleared his throat.

"Are cowards all that are left of your horde?!" Arthas's voice boomed across the plain as he raised his warhammer toward the watching orcs. "The future king of Lordaeron, Prince Arthas Menethil, stands before you. Will none of you monsters stand with honor for your misbegotten race?!"

I could hear the chorus of growls and roars from here, and there was something about the loud guttural sounds that rattled my bones.

"Is there no orc worthy of killing left? None that has the courage to face me?!"

When it finally seemed like the first orc would break rank and charge, an old and demanding voice shouted out.

"Stop!" A few more sentences, spoken in the orcish tongue, orc grunts that had been about to attack were stymied, settling down even as some of the orcs parted to make way. A hunched orc in a hooded robe made his way along the path. In his hand was wooden staff with skulls hanging from the gnarled world, the empty sockets beaming with unnatural green light. Beside him walked an orc who wore no armor—only covering his loins with a hanging cloth—and carried a slender, immaculately curved sword in his hand. Behind him, thin orc peons pulled forth a large rickety cart with wooden wheels, its contents covered by a brown sheet. The sea of orcs closed up behind them as they walked, and walked they did, as if unconcerned about the situation. Only when what could only have been a warlock and his entourage finally came to a stop in front of the formations did the warlock deign to speak.

"You have come a long way without your army, pinkskin."

"I need no army to deal with the likes of you."

"Challenging me to Mak'Gora?" The warlock gave a snide laugh. "That is reserved for orcs, and you…you will never be an orc."

"Nor do I want to be," Arthas said. "I have no need to personally wet my hammer with your blood, but I will end the blight of your kind upon this land. You have transversed and ransack this world for far too long, you honorless beasts."

"You say that we have no honor, do you?" The warlock turned his head to the side and spoke a few words in orcish. The orc peons that surrounded the cart pulled off the sheet, revealing a group of nine human captives including one unfortunate footman huddled inside a metal cage. They were bruised and bloodied, having disheveled clothes and being of all ages, but they screamed and reared away in fear when the cage was opened and the peons began dragging out the captives to the front. The footman struggled, but his helm was battered with the blunt side of a pickaxe, and he was dragged out as well. They were forced to their knees, and their begging voices heightened when they saw the knight on horseback in the field across from them.

Arthas tightened his grip on the shaft of his warhammer. I immediately patted harshly on his arm, hitting my palm against the metal. Even though it wasn't the most uncomfortable of feeling, it was better than letting the prince give in to his obvious rage. It was more than obvious what was going to happen, and I wasn't going to delude myself into thinking otherwise, though I had feeling that the prince tried to.

"There is no honor in killing the unarmed and defenseless," the warlock said with a grin. A grin that turned vicious. "But there is honor in sacrificing them to our demon lords."

Without hesitation, the warlock stabbed the pointed gnarled end of this staff into an adult male captive. The man opened his mouth to scream, but green light flared out of every orifice in his face. The holes widened, and by the time he fell, they were enlarged and empty enough that a fist could fit through them. The half-naked loin-clothed orc at his side swung his slender blade in a graceful arc, beheading three in a single slash. It took a moment for the heads to drop and another to blood to flow out, not in a splash but in a waterfall gush. His slash sequenced into a stab that ended a fourth.

"You're sacrificing them too fast," the warlock said with his head tilted to the orcish warrior. The fact that he was speaking in the common language meant that he wanted us to hear him. "Our demon lords cannot satisfy themselves fully if they aren't given enough time to taste, blademaster."

The blademaster gave a grunt of acknowledgment and lopped off both arms of a woman in what seemed like a single motion. Even as she cried out in agony, he did the same to her legs.

"Damn beasts!" Arthas raised up his hammer and shouted with all his might, "Knights of Lordaeron! Charge!"

"For the Alliance!" The knights from far behind us roared in challenge to the orcs. I could hear the stampede of horses, starting from a trot and moving into a full run.

Such a call couldn't go unanswered by the proud orcs.

"Lok'tar ogar!" As one, they roared back—such that the chorus of their guttural war cries reverberated across the field—and surged forth, around and over their barricades like a green tide. A mass of armored and unarmored orcs spewed out of the entrance of their encampment in such a way that it reminded me of green sludge pouring out of a rusted sewer pipe.

"It's too soon!" I shouted so I could be heard by Arthas over the war cries coming from both the front and behind. "We need to lure them out more!"

"It doesn't matter. It's only a little further than what we planned!" Arthas brought his horse into a trot as the knights charging from behind came closer. As he brought his horse into a full run, the incoming knights shifted a little to make a small gap, one in which Arthas moved his horse into. A nearby knight tossed over the lance that he held for the prince's safekeeping, one that Arthas readily caught out of the air. Switching his warhammer into his off-hand, he readjusted his grip on the lance and began to lower it to attack position. "Ready your lances!"

If the orc tide was like putrid liquid, then the knight's cavalry charge was a sharpened spearhead. I held on tightly to Arthas's abdomen as the tips of the long lances rammed into the first ranks of the orcs. Blood splattered as the lances pierced through faces, becoming embedded into them. The knights yanked hard, shattering off the tip of the lances and reusing them again against the next rank of orcs. This time, the lances caved in faces far more than they pierced, shattering them even more. The ones that fell off their feet were trampled into a pulp while the ones still standing were knocked down by the horses' armored bodies before they too were ran over. It was at this point that many of the lances became unusable, when the tide of bodies finally slowed the momentum of the horses down. Throwing aside their broken lances, they unsheathed and wielded their two-handed claymores in a single hand, the blades long enough to reach any foe within striking distance of their steed.

Even as they began to swing their swords with abandon—Arthas doing the same with his warhammer—I slipped off the back of the horse. I landed roughly on my feet, stumbling a little. Since the charge had been blunted, I didn't have to worry about the second line running me over, and I moved in between them and then behind them. From there, I saw the dwarven riflemen fast approaching, wading through the field of fallen orcs which was a testimony to the effectiveness of the knight's charge. They raised their rifles and fired mid-run, surprisingly accurate as the orcs that managed to survive and get to their feet had their heads blow through. With equally surprising dexterity, they flipped their rifle into a spin and while mid-flipped, they dropped into the muzzle a small paper gunpowder packet and an iron ball at the same time with their other hand, all without them falling out before the gun completed its spin and fell into their waiting hand. And it wasn't only that; they used short swords and bayonets to finish off the ones that were dying or maimed.

"I require assistance!"

There was no time to gawk at the sight as I shifted my focus. I moved my hands as energy flowed into them, amplified by my staff. As my heal came into fruition, the knight with a cut in the side of his breastplate was bathed in a bright light, fighting even harder as his wound faded away. I couldn't watch him further as I turned to the next one, a knight that didn't even call out even though he was obviously bleeding copiously. A second later, I saw the knight's helmet knocked off to reveal a female face, and once again, I had to wonder just how much stronger those in the knighthood was compared me. However, I didn't let that delay me.

From then on, the magical energy flowed through me as heal, flash heal, and renew continued to erupt from my hands and staff. I felt more like a conduit for this mysterious energy than anything else, but if there was something that I was good at, it was a managerial position. My hands flashed again and again, the small part of my brain scrambling and unscrambling near constantly, as I categorized the failing health of my clients from those that needed immediate attention to those that could wait a good deal more.

I drank mana potions when I needed to, but I kept those on the minimum and strictly managed my mana usage. While I could choke down more, it instinctively felt like if I drank too much at once, the magical energy in the liquid would riot and I would puke out everything that I had gained. When the prince had assigned me to this position, he probably thought I would be there to pick up the slack of the paladins. Yet, as I poured out spell after spell with precision timing, it felt like the paladins were focusing more on fighting and leaving more of the duty to me. I wasn't sure if that was a sign of trust in me or simply because of the ferocity of the orcs' attack. Even now, I could see the orcs trying to break in between the line of knights to get to me, but those that made it through were cut down by the second line or shot to death by dwarven riflemen. Of course, when one of the knights needed a break from being too wounded or exhausted, one from the second line switched with them.

Efficiency. You didn't need a high level spell or a barrel full of mana to be able to be effective; you just needed to heal at the point when the spell would be at its most effective and leave less waste. At the start, it had taken me a few tries, but I had adjusted, and my efforts were giving fruit. It wasn't just me, though; holy spells flashed here and there, and these definitely weren't from me. The thing about working with other healers—in this case, paladins—was to spot when not to cast a healing spell when you see one of them already going for it. That minimized the amount of times that two people healed the same client, thus wasting mana. I hadn't been very aware of what their spells looked like and how they would cast it, but after seeing it from the eleven paladins over and over, it wasn't hard for me to recognize the starting motions now. As the battle went on, my skill and efficiency visibly grew.

The first line of knights was undulating into a horseshoe formation rather than the wall it was before, keeping them close to each other as they chopped down orc after orc. The dark red blood of the orcs splattered their armor and continued to spray into the air, as if there was a fountain just in front of the knights. Bodies piled, and the orcs were forced to step over the bodies of their deceased or dying comrades to reach the knights. The tide of the orcs continued to flood forth and even tried to move around the flanks toward the rear, but some of the second line of knights intercepted them and the dwarven riflemen took potshots at them, grinding their offensive to a halt. And a grind it was since it was literally a meat grinder.

I saw an orc warlock in the crowd, beginning to cast a spell, but a musket ball smashed into his eye, shattering apart that entire side of his face. He fell to his knees, the words of his spell dying on his lips just before collapsing. Thus, it wasn't the warlocks that bothered me since they had to keep their heads down. No, the force multiplier that was causing trouble was the blademaster. There was a reason he was beside the warlock, and that reason showed itself as he moved in and out of the crowd, slicing with his slender blade in arcs that targeted vital points. When his sword that seemed eerily like a katana slashed open the throat of a paladin, I nearly didn't have enough time to save her, managing to only do so by a quick renew with a follow-up heal. I probably wouldn't have saved her if I hadn't been paying attention to the blademaster.

While the knights were too busy in their respective position to really notice him, I tracked his weaving as he flowed around his fellow orcs like a dancer on a wave. The penance spell, the newest offensive spell that I had learned from a book in the camp, was ready on the tip of my fingers. Why didn't I cast it right away? That was because I wanted an opportunity since I knew who his true target was. The only way to completely break the formation of the knights in one blow was to do one thing. Or rather, to kill one person.

Arthas Menethil.

"Arthas, left!" I shouted that out even as my penance spell erupted, four balls of magical light leaving my palm in a sequence. The blademaster had raised his sword for an overhead slash when the first of the ball shattered against the side of his face, causing him to flinch. He endured through the rest, but it was already too late. A warhammer was swung down and smashed into his unprotected head, squashing it like a over-ripe pumpkin. The smoking neck stump was seared shut by the elemental heat of the warhammer, even as the corpse fell lifelessly to the ground.

Yes, I wanted an opportunity for a promotion. Despite the burst of joy that filled me, I didn't have time to congratulate myself on the obvious promotion I would be getting later as my hands flared with the power of the Light, healing up another of the fighting knights. By this time, the second line of knights had nearly switched with all of the first line with only the stubborn ones like Arthas remaining on the frontlines. It was at that moment that I caught sight of arrows raining down on the orcs at our flanks. With the orcs facing us, the first wave of arrows pierced into their backs, some of them dying without knowing what killed them. Even as many of the orcs turned around, lessening the burden on the knights, I could hear a loud shout and the rushing of feet.

"For Lordaeron and the Alliance!" Armored footmen were rushing with locked shields to form an impressive shield wall, unlike the unruly tide that the orcs had done. They crashed into the rear of the confused orcs on both of our flanks, sending the first ranks off their feet. The morale of the fatigued knights soared as steel flashed again and again. The orcs on both flanks were grounded down by the pincer of knights on one side and footmen on the other. It was almost too swift how those orcs were shredded apart into meat patties, and once they were completely decimated, the line reformed to include both knights and footmen. From the back, the archers' arrows arced over the frontlines and into the mass of orcs at the entrance of their camp while the dwarven riflemen's guns rang out loudly and continuously.

The green tide was pushed back to the entrance. The spiked barricades were obstacles, but they were blunted when the orc grunts were pushed backwards by our line onto the barricades, impaling themselves on the spikes. Their morale flagged, and they were driven back into their camp to hold a last stand. Some of the orcs tried to yield, but Arthas demanded no quarter be given. Thus, none was given. By the end of it, the grounds of the camp was stained with dark red blood and littered with green corpses. I was used to gruesome sights—the god of artillery had ensured that—and this time was no different to me. Well, maybe just a little bit more macabre, but it wasn't anything I couldn't deal with.

Stepping through the puddles of blood, I soon came to where Arthas was standing with several knights, footmen, archers, and dwarves. It was a pit, but it wasn't until I was standing at its green candlelit edges that I saw what was inside. It wasn't anything I wasn't expecting since they had to put the villagers somewhere, but there were more than a few people in there that I recognized, their faces frozen in rigor mortis. Still, it was the usual expressions: agony, pain, suffering.

The dwarves viewed it as clinically as I did, but they were a different species altogether so that was reasonable. Some of the footmen were puking while the rest had expressions that ranged to disgust to horror. As a former commanding officer, it was a necessary skill to desynchronize my facial expression from my inner thoughts. I quickly schooled my face into an expression similar to what the veteran knights were sporting, which was a hard look and a grim frown.

I took a glance at Arthas's face and nearly reeled back. His expression was one of barely contained rage, his eyes seeming like they would flare and his teeth grinding against each other.

My frown turned real. There was a saying that a commanding officer who couldn't smile calmly when things were bad would only incite worry in their subordinate. That was true, since I was left here wondering if this was going to be the start of another war.

If Arthas was that much of a warmonger, then I dearly wished I would be relegated to the back lines. Of course, the divine fraud that was Being X would never allow that.

As I looked up into the sky with a sigh barely held back by my tightly pressed lips, the only thing that looked down on me was a black raven gliding under the glare of the sun like a vulture.

~o~

Author's Note:

Icura: Another Icura and Vahn production. Remember, he is my co-author.

Vahn: I know there were no knights units in the second mission, but I feel that is more for game play mechanics. As for the numbers, WC numbers have always been inconsistent so I will go with what make sense rather than what some author like Christine Golden wrote. "One thousand orcs make up the entirety of the Frostwolf clan..."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

I stepped off the train to the crunch of snow, my small hands holding onto my mondragon rifle. The sight before me was a revolting one. We were some distance from the city, but I could see the ruined buildings from here, stretching out to as far as my eyes could view. Burnt out, hollow buildings that filled a city devoid of souls, saved those of the military variety. Snipers filled shadowed windows, artillery sprayed the landscape with fire and debris indiscriminately, and fires raged constantly, only held in check by the biting cold and falling snow. It was a city on the verge of collapse that no one in their right mind wanted to hold, but they had to simply because if not, this was a direct path into the Empire that would be unopposed until the next major city which was still populated by civilians. Civilians who might rise up in opposition to the empire if given a new hope. That was why this urban center had been ground down to rubble and hellfire. This city was one for monsters, where ferocity and insanity could run free without oversight. Buildings toppled, soldiers died, and the ones left in the end didn't tend to live very long afterwards. It was a city that was anathema to me, but one that I had been ordered to take at all cost. I would have rather burned it to the ground.

Viktoriya stood at the side, waiting patiently. Her rifle was held casually, though she did make an effort to adjust it when I looked at her.

"Ah." The word—the sound—froze the world. A snowflake in mid-drop was completely stopped in the air, as if time itself was a casualty.

With a faint realization, I finally noticed that this was another dream. Another continuation of that which should be buried and forgotten. There had been plenty of other missions, ones where I had been on top. Why did it have to be here, the very last mission? In this city, hiding beneath the falling snow and the raging fires, there were monsters in wait. Monstrosities in human clothes who wore disarming faces. Ones that should have been put down a long time ago.

Like wolves biting each other until both died in the process.

That was this city. A city that I didn't want to see any more of.

Whipping the rifle around, I swung it by the muzzle, using the butt of the rifle to smash into the snowflake and shatter the world.

~o~

I gripped the sheets as I snapped awake. It took me a few moments to realize that I was lying in bed and another few to notice that sunlight was shining through the slit in the curtains and onto my face. The feel of the soft bed and the fur blanket brought me back to myself, enough that I was reluctant to part with them. Still, the day was wasting away, and since I didn't know when that warmonger would drag me off again, I had to make the best use of my time until then. With a little bit of effort, I squirmed over to the edge and then righted myself. Slipping my feet into comfy slippers, I stood up and stretched out my arms. After moving through a set of morning stretches, I pulled off my nightgown and tossed it on my bed. The closet held my clothes for the day, a pristine set of white priestess uniform that the local church gifted to me. Well, I said gifted, but it was pretty much work uniform. It took me a little to slip on all the clothes which included the inner shirt, the outer coat, form-fitting pants, and set of jewelry and trinkets. I was naturally never one for accessories, but apparently, these were magical ones that enhanced my abilities so it was practically a requirement for work to wear them.

Well, technically, it was "work," but it consisted of me simply studying at the local church for at least a few hours, though I tended to stay longer. Studying had always been the way to ensure success in life. However, in this world, studying also equated to actually real power. That was magic at my fingertips, which added even more reasons to do it.

Checking my appearance in the mirror, I saw a rather cute girl staring back at me. With a heart-shaped face and a creamy complexion, along with blond hair that draped down past my shoulders, I could naturally be called pretty. As much as some would think that—as a former male—I would be adverse to the image staring back at me, I simply wasn't bothered by it. In fact, I worked to maintain it. That was because first impressions was a universal rule in any world. When you stepped into a prospective employer's office, what would be the first thing that they would notice? That would be your appearance. Flash judgment would then flavor the following interaction. Starting out on the wrong foot with a distasteful or untidy look would obviously leave negatives that you have to work hard to climb out of. It was an unconscious response, an uncontrollable facet of human nature. Even a child would always aim for a pretty girl.

I took out a brush and pulled its bristles along my hair, unraveling the tangled knots in it. To me as a man, it was a waste of my time. To me as a corporate worker, it was a necessary requirement of my mornings. Once I was done, I placed the brush down and wrapped my hair into a ponytail. Simple but stylish and tasteful. It was a more efficient use of my time than more intricate hairstyles like braids which would only produce similar social results yet require longer preparation time. I did one last inspection, smoothing out any wrinkles in my uniform that I saw, before I started heading out of my home to grab breakfast.

Opening the front door of my temporary housing—a privately owned house in town—I found a man in a golden knight armor, sans his helmet. A ruggedly handsome face if I had ever seen one with a mop of chestnut hair. He had been waiting, like he did every morning, with his back leaning against the wall by the doorway. Somehow, despite his appearance, he always seemed awkward whenever a passing woman flashed him a smile. Even if said woman was an older one who looked like she already had great grandchildren.

"Morning, Falric. Have you been waiting long?" The question was more for common courtesy than anything else since I already knew the answer. The real answer.

"Not at all." He shook his head. "How was your morning, Tanya?"

As anyone could tell, our relationship had become comfortable enough in the last few days to be on a casual conversational basis. Even though I was pretty sure he was lying about not waiting long since I once woke up early enough to find him waiting at the crack of dawn. Normally, I would feel a little bad about it, if it weren't for the fact that he would take naps while I was studying so he got enough sleep anyways. He took his job as my bodyguard earnestly enough that he stayed with me in the church's libraries even though it should be quite safe enough that he could have done some sword practices in the courtyard just outside the library.

We started walking down the street, in the direction of the marketplace. Along the way, we continued our casual conversation. There was a sort of pleasure from doing the ordinary when, just a few days ago, things had been far too extraordinary. The sensation would eventually pass, but for now, I spent my time with the entirely unmemorable but relaxing words exchanged between us.

As we walked down the cobblestone road, a group of children ran passed us, waving when they spotted my uniform. I waved back idly. The town was a bustling one with plenty of people walking the streets, though never too much that it crowded it. Occasionally, there were carriages and carts that were driven by horses, but those went slow as not to injure any pedestrians. On both sides of the road, two story high buildings were a common sight with the occasionally three story building, but the thing those stood out to me the most wasn't their front, which was painted in whatever style the owner thought fit, but the matching slanted rooftops, all painted in the color that the nation was most known for: white. There were even breaks in the sides of the roads to allow trees to grow, giving it almost modern ambiance of beautification. It was calming in a way, and it was easy to get lost in the feeling.

It didn't take long before we reached our destination; it actually took longer to decide what store to eat at. Eventually, we settled for a simple breakfast: freshly baked loaves of bread at the bakery. Unfortunately, they didn't have any in stock.

"Our batch of grain was spoiled," the baker had said with a shake of her head.

We eventually decided to go to a restaurant and have some eggs with slices of boar meat and water. It sounded mundane, but fortunately, unlike on the frontlines of the Empire, these people at least had some impressive culinary skills. They were hardboiled eggs, but they had been cooked for an exacting amount of time and dropped in ice water to stop the cooking process, making the insides a mixture of solid and liquid that delighted my taste buds. The tender slices of pork were roasted at an even temperature into a texture that seemingly melted in my mouth, and that wasn't even mentioning the exquisite mixture of spices on it that made my eyes flared open from the flavor alone. Putting it all down with water wasn't the best combination, but a glass of wine at this hour was inappropriate, even though it would have enhanced the flavor. It would have to be saved for dinner. Nevertheless, the water cleaned the palates, ensuring that the next set of bites wouldn't be influenced by the previous set. I sawed through the meat again, placing the newly cut piece into my mouth and savoring it.

"You always seem to enjoy your food." Across from me, Falric was already done eating and had simply resorted to staring at me with an almost laughing smile on his face. He had taken off his gauntlets and laid them on the table to be able to handle the dining utensils more easily, but he was now using his free hands to prop up his chin.

"No army fights on an empty stomach." I sliced through and placed another piece into my mouth. "It's not good to eat too fast, you know."

"It's habit. When I was young, I used to think of it as wasting time so I always ate as fast as I could to get back to my sword practice," he said. "I try to slow down now, but it takes a conscious effort to do so. If I don't pay attention, then I'll practically swallow it down."

"That's even worse," I said while waving my fork around like I was a food connoisseur. "You're not giving enough respect to the chefs. The kitchen is not that different from a battlefield."

"Is it?" He had a smile displayed as if he thought I was joking.

"It is," I said in between bites. "Though, with less risk of being shot or stabbed."

"Oh, don't remind me. Those dwarves were scarily good with those guns." He crossed his arms, as if shivering from the cold. "I still get chills from how close some of their shots whizzed by my head."

"During the final push? They had to aim that high, otherwise it would scare the horses."

"My horse throwing me off would have been worse." Falric nodded his head. However, a moment later, he opened a pouch and took out a letter, placing it on the table. "While you were asleep, Marwyn came by and dropped this off."

Looking down at the folded sheet, I saw that the wax seal had been broken. Not that I minded since my golden armored bodyguard was looking out for my safety, even if it was a bit too diligently. Well, far better than not diligent at all. I placed my cutlery down and picked up the letter. After I unfolded it, it took me a few moments to read it, and then a few more to fully comprehend the content. Folding it back up and placing it down on the table, I took up my cutlery again and resumed eating. Falric waited a couple of minutes in silence, simply watching me eat, before he finally decided to ask.

"So will you do it?"

"Of course," I said without a hint of hesitation. "For Lordaeron, there is no task too great!"

Displaying my loyalty while increasing my value to the right hand man of my superior would make it more unlikely that I would be sent on unreasonable jobs. That was the reasoning behind my patriotic words, which were the opposite of my inner thoughts.

It was a letter from Arthas that went on about how he was taking a short trip to Silverpine Forest to meet up with an old friend to investigate the issue of the plague that had been ravaging the northern lands. In the meantime, he wanted me to see if I could find out anything from the plague victims.

The normal thought of any modern person in regards to a plague was to get vaccinated or, failing that, to simply stay away. However, when holy magic came into question, that problem simply ceased to exist. That was because there was literally a spell blatantly called, "Purify Diseases." To me, with my modern knowledge of diseases, a more apt name would be: "Purify Some Diseases." One spell couldn't possibly cure all diseases, which was why this plague wasn't being cured by it. Honestly, I didn't really pay much attention to this plague, but if they sent a prince to investigate, then the spell obviously wasn't working.

"Do you know anything about the plague?"

"Only that it has been spreading for the last month," Falric said. "The northern coast line territories has been affected the most, but it's been spreading. Even Brill has some."

"Here?"

"In the northern plaza, the church has set up tents to house the victims."

I fell silent as I contemplated his words. Normally, you would first expect to see the infected before conducting an investigation, but that was dangerous when I didn't know the vector of transmission. The first course of action should thus be to find out more information, and the best place for that was already the place we were planning to head to: the church.

Well, after I finish eating breakfast.

~o~

After I arrived at the church, I searched out the eye witnesses. Of course, my authority alone was insufficient, but with Falric by my side, it gave me more value despite being what was essentially a low ranking priestess of the organization. Luckily, many at the church had been dealing with the issue since it was the most prominent one to hit the trade town of Brill. It took a while to gather the reports and testimonies from the priests and priestesses who had, at least once, attended to the sick and diseased caused by the new plague. I frowned as I looked down at the sheet of paper before me, the ink still wet. It contained my shorthand notes on all the information I gathered. Sitting across from me was Falric with his head on the desk, taking his delayed afternoon nap.

The first stage of the infection weren't that bad, consisting of a slight fever, headache, and nausea. These symptoms would go away when administered with the purification spell, but they would return less than a day later. The second stage intensified these symptoms, but patients were still functional. The third stage brought it to levels where the victim would periodically vomit. The fourth stage was the bedridden stage where they would have a difficult time even moving. The fifth stage was the verge of death. There was no sixth stage.

The purification spell could temporarily rejuvenate the victim, but the symptoms of the stage would eventually return, and the stages couldn't be reverted to the previous stages. Basically, there was no going backwards between stages, only forward with holy spells merely delaying the inevitable. Thankfully, the patients did not seem to be contagious as none of the attending priests and priestesses had contracted the disease from their interaction with the patients with one going so far as to drink from the same cup. I would be aghast at the lack of sterilization policies, but in this case, it narrowed down my investigation significantly.

As I thought, there was some kind of resistance from holy spells. Thankfully, it wasn't evolving or mutating as the effectiveness of the purification spells still seemed to be the same now as it was before. One of the priests had actually traveled north in recent weeks to help contain the spread, and from him, I found out that the number of victims was increasing at a relatively exponential rate. It wasn't so big right now, since I hadn't even heard about it before when I was living in Strahnbrad, but it had the potential to escalate and escalate badly. If even thirty percent of a village was infected, it would start a breakdown of the society and economy that would accelerate as more victims become infected. Essentially, I was looking at a catastrophe on the level of the Black Death. Well, if it got worse, I had dual citizenship with Stormwind so I could head south, but that would still only be delaying the inevitable spread southward.

Moving my hand to my pocket, I pulled out a folded piece of paper. Spreading it out on the table, I read the information again. It was a copied list of victims and addresses that I had received from the bishop. Even though it wasn't the most updated, being a few days old, I could still get started on interviewing the families. It would be nice to interview the patients, but at the stages where they would be forced to go to the medical tents would obviously be at least the third stage and onward. Talking with them and getting information from them would be difficult.

I reached across the table and mussed up Falric's head. Since his body was fully armored, that was really the only place I could directly touch him. He raised his head, looking at me blearily.

"Wake up. We have work to do."

He groaned and slammed his forehead down on the table. As much as it seemed like he was heading back to sleep, he definitely wasn't. He was too hard-working for that. As I blew on my recently inked paper to try to dry it faster, he slowly raised his head and then his body, stretching out his arms. He tilted his head to the left and then right, both eliciting wet cracks from his joints.

"Where are we going?" Falric asked as he got up from his seat.

"We're going to be conducting some interviews."

"More interviews?"

"You'll see when we get there."

~o~

The results were surprising. Most of the households that we went to didn't answer our knocks. It was only when we knocked on a neighbor's door that we found our calls answered. Most of them said similar things.

"Their whole family took sick, milady," the neighbor said.

"When did you first notice?"

"My little boy used to play with their little girl," he said. "Noticed her acting feverish. They went to the tents a few days later. I fear the house is cursed, milady."

"What do you mean cursed?"

"None of us around these parts like to get near it. There's a stench, and the grass growing between the road stones near it are dying."

"I see. Does anything else come to mind?"

"Not that I can think of, milady."

"Thank you for your time." As the door closed to a shut, I glanced at Falric standing beside me. He had a grim look on his face as I motioned toward the house of the victims. We had already gone through this routine several times so he was used to it.

Still, as we walked over to the house with Falric taking out his sword, I couldn't help but notice the darker ambiance surround it, as if it was faded in comparison to the houses nearby. Once we were at the door, he placed his ear against it, waiting and listen for half a minute. When he was satisfied, he took a step back and raise his sword. A few stabs and slashes loosened the wood on the door, enough that a shoulder ram easily broke it down. His over-sized pauldron protected his shoulder enough that it wasn't a problem. The loud noises did draw attention, but the knowledge that it was the house of the infected and the sight of Falric's golden armor kept most at bay. We headed in, despite the strong smell of decay. Our investigation led us to the kitchen. Popping open one of the cabinets, we were hit by a strong burst of stench. There was no way that I could ever get used to that smell, and I had to hold back from gagging.

Sitting there was a bag. With a slash of my bodyguard's sword, the contents spilled out.

Spoiled grain.

"Same as the other houses."

"This can't be a coincidence," I murmured. Once, twice, okay. Three times, maybe. However, this was the fifth time. "Put out a local advisory to stop eating the grain."

"I will call for a local guardsman," Falric said as he walked out of the room.

I stared down at the spoiled grain. If everyone in the household was eating this, then it would explain why there was never anyone in these houses unaffected. All the households that we have visited had been relatively low income families. These grains were not fit for consumption, yet were they really that poor enough to eat obvious spoiled grain? No, food spoilage was a big deal even in this kind of medieval era so unless they were incredibly desperate, they would know about food poisoning and how they would just be puking or having explosive diarrhea. These houses weren't in that bad of a shape to suggest that.

Then it struck me. The baker in the morning didn't make any bread because the grain spoiled. However, why would a baker buy spoiled grain in the first place and then decide not to use it? The only reason was that it became spoiled after she bought it, but grain wasn't supposed to spoil that fast. It was made to last a long time so unless there were contaminants like exposure to moisture, it shouldn't have spoiled. A baker who made her living off of bread would certainly not look down on food storage. If we looked at it from that angle, then the sack of grain must have already had a contaminant in it.

Was it the bag? The grain itself? However, normal spoiled food would not result in a magically resistant plague. Was this man-made? Orcish-made? How would orcs even get the grain distributed?

There were still more neighborhoods to interview, but for now, I had a lead that I needed to follow up on first.

The sack tipped over, spilling out more of its graying content. Two flies came out of the bag as well.

"Disgusting."

~o~

After Falric sent out the alert, I took a quick trip with him to the baker. It wasn't hard to find out that she had bought it from the local warehouse, and I had Falric send some people to shut it down for now. The local advisory had been sent out. However, since I didn't state the full reason, only describing it as food poisoning, the ones that took it seriously would definitely be the restaurants, but I couldn't be sure that the local citizenry would follow the directive. Still, if they didn't and contracted the plague, that was on them. Still, I couldn't fully place my weight behind the assumption that the grain was causing the plague, not without more evidence, but that didn't mean I couldn't quarantine it with Falric's authority for now. Or at least until I could find out the true cause. After all, maybe it was just interaction with the infected that caused the grain to become contaminated, which would also mean that they were externally spreading the plague through their skin, fluid, or perhaps their mucus membrane. Regardless, it was better to be cautious than dead.

The last step that I needed to take was to visit the actual victims of the plague. We moved north through the town with purpose, even as I saw guardsmen bustling down the roads in a hurry in accordance with my orders—or rather, Falric's orders. Reaching the northern plaza, I saw a wide open space of stone and vegetation, a piece of artwork that was marred by the numerous and large medical tents that had been set up. The second thing that caught my notice was the banner of Lordaeron hanging at the opening of the makeshift camp, one that featured prominently an enlarged blue letter "L" on a white background. Even outside the tents, I saw staff workers in plain brown clothes while the clerics wore similar clothings to what I had, all of them featuring various stains here and there, though more on the staff workers than the priests and priestesses. Still, I could imagine that they would never be able to get those clean, even as Faldric and I made our way into the plaza.

None of the priests or guards stopped us, whether from recognizing me or my associate in golden armor, so we remained unacosted as we entered the first large tent. Inside was the moaning and groaning of the bedridden, lying on stained sheets with buckets at their bedsides. I could see staff workers as well as priests and priestesses at work, regressing the sickness at least a little bit by casting their spells. Their efforts gave some relief, but I knew it was only temporary. What they were primarily doing was trying to stop the patients from advancing into the next stages where there would be no returning from.

I slowly walked by their bedsides, taking in their symptoms. Vomiting, diarrhea, fever. All the symptoms fell within the parameters set by the reports that I had gathered. By my side, Falric was wrinkling his nose at the smell, but to me, it actually smelled a little bit better than the spoiled grain, as odd as that sounded. As I walked passed the patients, some of whom were reaching out for me as if I could save them from their pains, I found myself stopping in front of one particular patient.

A little blond boy with matted hair was lying on the bed, feverish. Next to his bedside sat an older woman, obviously his mother, sporting a few new strands of gray from the last time I had seen her. Obviously, this was not our first meeting. Not at all.

"Little Timmy." My voice came out as little more than a whisper. Alicia, the mother, looked up with eyes as hollow as her expression. However, noticing me, her eyes lit up with sometime that I couldn't fulfill: hope.

"…Lady Tanya." Tears burst out of the corners of her eyes as she bowed her head. "Please, help me!"

Words to say came to mind, but it was hard to say them. After a few moments of silence, I became resigned and silently casted the purification spell on the young boy. Bathed in light, his symptoms became more relieved, but he was still showing signs. His mother looked up at me, asking for more. More than what I could give.

I was stuck in a dilemma. That was because I had some connections to them. They were originally residents of Strahnbrad, but it seemed that, as refugees, they had been moved to Brill. I had known them, or more specifically, I had known little Timmy. He was a bit of a lecherous child, always trying to sneak a peak on me when I took a bath in the nearby stream, but I was pretty sure that he didn't really understood why. How could I know that? That was because I already had three childhoods so puberty was a thing that I was distinctly aware of. Still, for all his faults, he was a nice enough kid that always tried to get to know me. Leaving him in this state left a bad taste in my mouth.

However, as my eyes turned to his mother, I couldn't help but notice something very important.

Why was she not sick?

"Did you or Timmy eat any spoiled grain?"

Alicia blinked in confusion for a moment before she shook her head.

"What about regular grain?"

"We did."

Was the outbreak of symptoms delayed or did she have some kind of immunity to it? I would have to keep an eye on her, but I had assumed, for now, that it was the former. Thankfully, the infected weren't plague-bearers, otherwise the delay would have been far more catastrophic. Well, any common transmission method would have made it into an apocalyptic scenario rather than simply just a devastating one.

"I will need to the keys to your house or apartment."

"Why?"

"To find out the root cause."

~o~

A quick trip there and back had confirmed my thoughts. The sack in her house had contained spoiled grain, despite the fact that she had described what was clearly unspoiled grain when she had baked it and ate it with her son. I couldn't tell her the bad news since I hadn't really told the higher-ups. Releasing that information now to the public, without the proper infrastructure to support the resulting chaos, would only lead to madness like rioting and looting. Walking into another large tent—a bit of a blatant attempt to avoid another encounter with little Timmy and Alicia—I saw a similar scene of bedridden patients. The clergy was taking care of the sick as the staff workers ran around to assist them. However, at the back, I saw a few men and women in different colored robes. These looked more intricately designed than normal, having an off-white coloring with silver trims at the edge of their clothes. When I prodded Falric, he told me who they were.

"The royal apothecaries." Most of them were simply watching, but there were two at the side who were arguing. When I came closer, I could make out the contents of the argument. Apparently, it was a royal apothecary speaking with a local apothecary.

"Please! Please, I need more samples!" The local man who was wearing black robes had placed his hands together, as if to beg.

"Enough," the royal apothecaries said. "We have already allowed you to desecrate enough corpses. How inhumane are you trying to be?"

"But I'm so close. Just a few more."

"What's going on here?" I asked as I walked up to them with my bodyguard.

"Who are—" The royal apothecary cut off her words when she saw us. Or more specifically, when she saw Falric's golden armor. "My lord and my lady, how can I help you?"

"Just tell me what's going on."

"Of course, my lady. This man." She pointed to the local she was talking to. "This fool believes that he can find a cure for the plague, but to do so, he is desecrating the deceased."

The man looked ready to argue, but I held up my hand.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"His name, my lady," the royal apothecary interrupted, "is Apothecary Putress. A local of some renown, but unheard of elsewhere. Or should I say, infamous for his eccentricities."

"I can speak for myself," Putress said with a glare to the royal apothecary before he rearranged his expression to a neutral one and turned to me. "I am the local apothecary for Brill, but I believe that I can find a cure to the plague. By using the deceased, I have been testing out potions to see their effectiveness, and I may be on the verge of a breakthrough."

"You said that last time too," the royal apothecary said venomously. "Don't try to deceive her as well. We gave you twenty corpses so far, and you have still made no progress. The dead should be treated with respect, and you are making a mockery of them."

"It is better than experimenting on the living," Putress replied, as if the thought was reprehensible to him. "The plague has been shown to spread to animals, but they are particularly resistant to it. I believe that with more experimentation with their blood, a cure can be concocted, but I dare not test that on the living. That's why more corpses of the diseased are necessary for my research."

Before the royal apothecary could give what I presume would be a scathing verbal lashing, I decided to intervene.

"I think it should be allowed." My words sliced straight through the tension between the two apothecaries. They both stared at me in disbelief, and I could see Falric was too out of the corner of my eyes. "I can speak with Prince Arthas when he returns, but I think it will be okay with him."

The silence that came from that was telling. What was even more telling was the way that Falric's fingers were twitching, as if he wanted to say something badly but held himself back. I glanced at him, and he tried to communicate with his eyes. I slowly turned away, pretending to not understand him. The royal apothecary finally gathered herself.

"If that is your will, my lady…"

I simply nodded my head.

"As you wish." It was only after she left to rejoin her group of royal apothecaries that I felt a gauntleted hand on my shoulder.

"Not now, Falric," I said as I shook off his hand. "There is more work to be done."

While hoping that changing the subject could make him forget my abuse of false power later on, I turned to my newfound chess piece, Apothecary Putress.

"Bring me to your workshop. I would like to see what progress you have made."

Hopefully, the sight of potions being used on corpses in a dinky dungeon of a basement would be enough for Falric to forget.

~o~

The workshop was a lot more cleaner than I thought it would be. Sure, there were books scattered on desks here and there as well as a general lack of windows in the basement, but other than that, it was relatively clean. The airflow was even good enough to keep the stench of decaying corpses to a minimal, even though they were obvious there, lined up against the back wall in a sitting position, in plain sight. There was so many things that I could say about this lack of sanitation, but the fact that the clerics at the medical tent didn't bother to wear anything like gloves or masks pretty much solidified how behind this world was in medical technology. All in all, if there was more lighting and equipment made of stainless steel, then this place would look just like a modern day mortuary in a hospital.

On the metal table at the center of the room was his current test subject, a naked corpse of a man with his hand turning blue. Obviously, he had been pouring potion on that hand.

"Tanya, close your eyes! That's an inappropriate sight for a lady."

"I seen plenty before so it's not a big deal."

"You have?!"

"Yes." Mostly in my first life. I even had one of my own back then.

While Falric was reeling on my declaration, I moved over to the pale—almost ghoulish—corpse to examine it more. However, the more I saw, the more I frowned.

"Just how much potion have you used on this hand, Putress?"

"A cupful, my lady."

"That seems wasteful."

"It's hard to see results with less, my lady."

I took another look around the room.

"And where is your control group?"

"Control…group…?"

Well, that explained it. In an experiment, it was necessary to have a control group and an experimental group. While you conducted the experiments on the experimental group, you would use the control group as the baseline so you can compare the results and see what exactly variables were affected based on the differences between each group. Maybe it had a different name here. I explained the concept to him, but he shook his head.

"…I could not waste any potential parts that may hold the key to the cure."

Well, it seemed he was simply planning to deal with the appearance of side effects after the full release to the public. I supposed that it was possible since this was a medieval type of setting, but that was an awfully dangerous method that reminded me a lot of Adelheid von Schugel, that crazy Imperial scientist. Still, his research method left a lot to be desired; he was using too much of the body and too much potion. It wasn't like there were two of the exact same fingers so a control group wouldn't exactly be the most effective. However, there was a way.

"Tell me, do you know what a telescope is?"

"I have one right here, my lady. It helps with reading faded text in some of my older books." Putress moved aside some paperwork on his desk, revealing a well-used miniature telescope. He handed it over to me.

"I didn't realize they could make it this small." It sat in the palm of my hand.

"The gnomes are an innovative race, my lady."

"What magnification is this?"

"Four times the normal."

"Try to find someone willing to attempt construction of a higher magnification about a hundred times stronger than what you have. The infection is on a cellular level—I mean they are invisible to the naked eye. With that, you will be able to see it. This will be useful to you because you can take a small sample of skin—a tiny slice—and put that in between two pieces of glass to protect it and flatten the sample. That way, you can keep reusing just one hand instead of going through multiple corpses, use a single drop of potion instead of a cupful, and you can even use a sample from a living person without risk of injury to that person. Though, you will need to sterilize the glass with concentrated alcohol to make sure it is clean and you aren't look at random dust or extremely tiny insects."

"That is… That is brilliant, my lady." His eyes were racing. "But expensive. Very expensive."

"Captain Falric here will cover the cost." I could see Falric moving to protest, but I quickly stopped him with a look and mouthed words that I will pay him back.

"I will try. I must try," Putress said. "But how? How does my lady know all of this?"

"It's how they research in a far away land, though I couldn't really learn much about it."

"I would imagine they would keep such things secret," he said reverently. "I will go and seek out a gnome tinker in the capital city at once! Thank you, my lady, for your patronage!"

"My name is Tanya Degurechaff. If you have any issues, seek me out."

"I will, my lady."

Not that I expected him to succeed or anything, but I could put him down as another part of my effort to investigate the plague in my report to Arthas. That would elevate my position, and as long as I get Putress to keep the receipts, I should be getting reimbursements for whatever I spent on the mission he assigned. All in all, succeed or fail, it was another achievement I could put in my portfolio.

~o~

There was nothing quite like sleeping on a bed. A comfortable bed in a town rather than in a military tent. What wasn't as comfortable was the incessant knocking on my door. Being the militarily disciplined person that I was, I merely threw on a robe and headed to the front door. Opening it up, I found Falric standing outside, of course, though judging from the lighting upon the surrounding, it had to be only around the crack of dawn. I already knew that Falric wouldn't have woken me up if it wasn't important so I didn't bother him with any of the annoyance I felt.

"What happened?"

"Prince Arthas has returned, Tanya. Please, get dressed promptly."

Leaving the front door opened, I rushed back into my bedroom and shut the door. What happened after that was a flurry of motion, clothes wearing, mirror checking, hair brushing, and ponytail tying that got me in and out of my room in record time. I was presentable in every which way, and I made sure to stop for a moment to catch my breath and loosen the flush that was probably on my face. Probably not all of the flush, but there was really no time. Without anything more to do, I opened the door and made my way into the living room. Standing there was the person I was expecting.

"Prince Arthas, welcome back." I gave a very bright smile, one that I had practiced thousands of times in the mirror.

Arthas looked nervously at me and then glanced to the side. It was only then that I noticed the blond haired woman in a hooded blue robe carrying an orbed staff. However, the thing that caught my attention was that despite how neutral her expression was, her jaw was clearly clenched. I would know, since I had done that myself more times than I could count.

"So, you're Tanya," she said in a frosty tone. "I'm Jaina Proudmore. How very…nice to finally meet you."

I need more coffee for this.

~o~

Author's Note:

Icura: My army warfare story turned into an investigation story?!

Vahn (Vahnhammer): Do you think I have forgotten? Do you think I have forgiven? Muwhaha! Well, those that get the reference. Kudos. ^_^ As for the numbers problem. You have Christine Golden saying one thousand orc make up the Frostwolf clan, a number which also included women and children. Then you have The Black Rock Orcs attacking with an army of 50k and was completely crushed at Stormwind during the first war. After that, the Orcs had more people to fight Stormwind for Six Years. And even then at the end, Doomhammer was like, "Whew, that was a close one." The Frostwolf clan is supposed to be able to wrestle control from the Blackrock Clan if they ever wanted to. It was one of the reason why Gul'Dan had them exiled and Durotan killed. Way too many Clans respected them. Over half at the very least. However, all of the numbers are too inconsistent. In the WC2 book adaption, the Orcs numbered "As many as there are blade of grass." So yeah, I am going to work with bigger numbers over all. Azeroth is a world, and I intend to make it one.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

In the living room, Arthas and Jaina sat across from me with a table in between. I was sitting on a wooden chair with Falric right next to me. While Arthas was reading my report, his expression darkening as his eyes continuously moved across the inked page, Jaina was glancing worriedly at him from time to time. Staring at the two from this angle, it was pretty obvious even to me that this was more than just friendship. As if that wasn't enough, I saw Jaina's fingers twitching, her hand rising and falling as if she wanted to do something but held herself back. That was more than enough to proof for the rumors about them that I had heard about in my cleric training days.

They were like two movie stars, their names and reputation big enough that—while the rumors of their relationship were never officially confirmed—it was said that it was obvious to everyone. During my training days back in Stratholme, there have been plenty of my fellow acolytes who had kept up with the news, and they in-turn made sure that I was aware of it despite the fact that I had no real interest at the time. The only reason that I had really listened to them was to make sure that my connection with some of the more promising bishop candidates would be stable enough to use in the future. Though, the thing that I remembered the most was when a fellow acolyte—a white-haired girl who came from Southshore village—was heartbroken enough that she cried on my shoulder over the news of their supposed break-up. It had all been more than just tedious back then, but now? I was glad that they had kept it informed of it.

The two were a match that satisfied all the political requirements as well. Arthas was the prince of Lordaeron and its future king. He was a strong paladin, satisfying the public on both the martial and religious front which made him popular. Not only that, but his father, King Terenas, was actually a beloved ruler, even though that reputation was strained in the last few years because of the rising taxes to help fund Stormwind's reconstruction and the orcs interment camps. As for the other half of the equation…

Jaina was the daughter of Lord Admiral Proudmoore, the ruler of Kul Tiras, so she was royalty in her own right. Not only that, but she was an accomplished magician, a rising star in the ranks of the mage city-state of Dalaran and was likely to become a part of the ruling council, the Kirin Tor, in the future. In a sense, she could be considered a representative of both Kul Tiras and Dalaran.

Noticing my stare, Jaina looked up at me, a confident grin on her lips. I smiled back at her, making sure to show the results of my extended practice with it. However, despite the reaction I was seeking, I saw her grip tightened around her staff as she turned her nose up at me. I wasn't quite sure how to take it, but it reinforced what I already knew: that I had somehow already gotten on the bad side of one-half of the royal couple. While I wasn't sure why I had become the target of her ire, I had to mend the rift between us. The problem was that I didn't know the cause of the rift.

Normally, to find out the reason, I would compare the before and after. The difference between the two states would generally lead to clues that would eventually point to the root cause. The only problem with this method was that Jaina hated me from the start. There was no "before" in the equation. Therefore, I was stuck in a bind. The time to solve conflicts was near the beginning of it, before it had time to fester and splinter off into other grievances. There was some anxiety as I waited for Arthas to finish, my mind racing with the many possibilities of what her unwarranted hatred could be for. The reason that I was trying so hard was that if I didn't, having the queen of Lordaeron against me would ensure that I would not have a good life, especially since I wasn't a noble with a powerful enough family to stave off the intervention of royalty. While it was true that I was in Artha's favor, as evident from him loaning Falric to me as my bodyguard when he could have just gotten any random guardsman to do it, the influence of a queen was not to be underestimated, especially one that was beloved by him; I wouldn't be surprised if she somehow convinces Arthas to relegate me to a small border village on the edge of civilization. Therefore, my number one objective that took priority before even the plague was to get into Jaina's good graces. A plague could last a few years up to a few decades, but a deep grudge could last a life-time.

The first order of business to resolve the problem was to be start a dialogue with her.

"Princess Jaina," I slowly began. The way to deal with a suspicious wild animal was to approach slowly and entice with benefits. When she looked up at me, I continued. "Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"No, I'm too full. And you can address me as Jaina or Lady Jaina if you prefer."

"Lady Jaina…" When in doubt, compliment the more extravagant accessories on them or their hairstyle. "I like your necklace."

"Thank you," Jaina replied without an ounce of good will. "It was a gift."

While the responses weren't as brief or terse as outright hatred, it still wasn't looking good for me. The key was to break the ice, but the problem was that I didn't really have much experience in this. In both of my previous lives, I had been mostly concentrated on my career; most of my interactions had been with my superiors or subordinates, with the context of corporate or military work that allowed a sort of connection to form. Here, I didn't have the luxury of that. Some would say to use your dating experience, but in my first life, my dating history was woefully sparse since I had been solely concentrated on career advancement. What experience I had in that arena had mostly been the other side trying to proposition me, and they had been the main proponent in "breaking the ice." In my second life, such things were completely nonexistent. Still, despite my lack of social experience, I could sense that I wouldn't be getting anywhere with these kinds of statements and questions, and time was running out to resolve the situation.

Hardening my eyes, I decided to go for the more extreme option.

"So… I've always felt you and Prince Arthas make a fitting couple," I said. "The people of Lordaeron will be happy to learn that you two are courting once again."

Jaina jolted in her seat. Falric coughed, quickly hiding his mouth behind his hand. Of course, this was enough to startle Arthas out of his reading, causing him to look up in confusion.

"Is something wrong?" Arthas asked. It was hard to tell with him, but I was half-convinced that he actually heard that and was pretending not to.

Jaina shook her head despite the crimson dusting on her cheeks. It caused Arthas to raise a questioning stare, but he didn't deign to follow up on it.

"Here." He handed over the report to Jaina. "I want your thoughts on this."

Before Jaina looked down to read it, she gave me a half-hearted glare over the top of the sheet. The fact that it was half-hearted was progress enough for me, especially after just one conversation.

It took a far shorter time for the mage to get through the document, but when she did, there was none of the grudge in her expression as she turned her gaze to me.

"Is everything in this true?"

"Yes, and it's up-to-date. I just wrote it last night."

"We need to take a look at the grain. Now."

~o~

In the confines of the kitchen of one of the victim's houses, I was standing at the side with Falric, letting Arthas and Jaina examine the sack of spoiled grain. After giving my report on it, they naturally wanted to see it for themselves.

"There's dark magic in these pieces of grain," Jaina said as she turned her hand, letting the handful of grain to slide off. She swatted her hand through the air a few more times to make sure all of it was off and then frowned. "It's still lingering on my hand."

"So they're poisoning the food shipments?" Arthas asked.

"No." Shaking her head, Jaina said, "There's too much magic in these. A normal piece of grain shouldn't be able to contain this much energy."

"What do you mean?"

"With this much death magic, it should have corroded away into dust. Death magic is focused on decay." Jaina looked contemplatively at the grain on the floor. "It should have been governed by the laws of nature, just like how fire magic would make it burst into flames while earth magic would harden it to stone. Instead, the magic is just leaking out; the container didn't break."

"Then it must have been modified," I said, interjecting myself into the conversation. Even though I could see Jaina's expression flickering slightly at the interruption, I felt that it was an important enough topic to justify my words.

Jaina shook her head. "Grain, no matter how much they modify it, cannot contain magic like this. You see how it's still breaking down even now, leaking magic into the surroundings? The only way it can last this long is if they grew this from the ground up. These may look like grain and work like grain, but these are artificial imitations. Somebody created this from scratch."

Arthas had a somber and serious expression. "Could this be the work of a Dalaran experiment gone wrong?"

"No!" For the first time, I saw Jaina turn an angry stare toward Arthas. "Why would you even think that? The Kirin Tor would never allow something like this; the black arts are banned not only in Dalaran but in the whole of Lordaeron. The only ones who could be responsible for this are necromancers."

The more that I was hearing of this, the more that it seemed like a fringe terrorist group.

"It has to be the orcs again," Arthas said balefully.

"Why do you think that?" Even though I asked, it was kind of obvious that it wasn't the orcs.

"During the second war, their warlocks used necromantic magic to create skeletons and death knights out of fallen soldiers."

"Even if orcs could pass themselves off as humans, this is not their usual ways; they are far more direct. Not to mention that the scale of this is not something that a lone necromancer can do or even in a small group. It requires planning and time which most orcs aren't known for," Jaina retorted. "That we only know about it now means this could only have been an inside job with human infiltrators."

"Could it be the remnants of Alterac?" I knew more than a bit about them since I had been living in a town right next to the ruined kingdom. "They have reason enough to hate Alliance."

"No, they do not have the structure or clout to pull off something like this," Arthas replied with a sneer. Clearly, he didn't think well of traitors.

"Is there anyone suspicious who had enough connections and influence to do this?"

"There is a paladin who had betrayed the Alliance, but…"

"Could he have been responsible?" I asked.

"Tirion Fordring was one of the founding members of the Order of the Silver Hand. I can't imagine him falling that far from the Light."

"Assumptions can manufacture your own downfall. If you don't know where he is and what he is doing, then we can't rule him out." I have been a victim of assumptions more times than not, such as when they sent me winter clothes for a mild winter of the Empire instead of a death-grasping winter of the Federation. Or the time when Headquarters assumed that a war was won only to allow the enemy a foothold on another continent and the resumption of that very same war. Dealing with cold, hard facts was the best way to make sure that any succeeding path or conclusion that stems from them wouldn't suddenly be invalidated when premise turned out to be false. That would be like assuming you were going on a journey to assassinate the enemy general, only to find out that you murdered your prime minister instead.

"Then what would you have me do? Imprison him?" Artha's eyes flared as he looked in my direction. Apparently, this was a very sore subject for him, and I had walked right into it.

"I…I would never presume to order you around, my liege." I quickly bowed my head. "I'm merely suggesting that the best course of action would be to keep an eye on him."

"Raise your head. I did not mean to direct my ire at you. It is just that this and recent matters have been weighing on my mind." It was only after I raised my head that Arthas continued to speak. "You did well, Lady Tanya. Your unique way of investigation has proven its worth and your own. Do you attest to this, Captain Falric?"

"I do, my lord." Standing up straighter, Falric gave me a quick side glance before he focused his full attention on Arthas. "If it were not for Tanya, then we'd never have found out the cause so quickly. She used simple and mundane methods, but the results speak for themselves. Within the span of a single day, I had followed her as she questioned witnesses and followed near meaningless clues to the truth. If I had not seen it for my own eyes, I would never have believed that such a thing could be possible. If not for her tremendous aptitude for the clerical arts, I'd have recommended her for inquisitorial training."

I spotted Falric winking at me, but I was actually conflicted about his statements. While I did appreciate the commendations, especially when it was directly to Arthas, if the job of inquisitor was actually presented to me, that would be incredibly bad. What kind of job was an inquisitor? It was someone who investigated corruption issues through any means possible that included—but was not limited to—interrogation, torture, and intimidation. As anyone could imagine, they were hated by many, but the problem was that they were also hated by the rich and powerful as well. That kind of job had a rather deep mortality rate.

"An inquisition may be what we need. When I met up with up with Jaina in Silverpine forest, we encountered necromancers. There, we found a plagued storehouse that was corrupting its surroundings. We couldn't enter it because of the abundance of dark magic so we had to destroy it from the outside." Arthas looked grim. "At the time, I had thought they were conducting a ritual in there, but it seemed that it was a far worse plan. It looks like we're dealing with traitors, not just to Lordaeron but to life itself."

"We can't let this happen, Arthas," Jaina said. "Whatever their purpose, we can't allow them to succeed."

"I know, Jaina. We'll stop them." He turned to me. "I'll be sure to let Uther know who to credit for this discovery. You'll be adequately rewarded for your work, but for now, there is more work to be done." Arthas swept his gaze across every one of us in the room. "Falric, find the shipping manifests. I want to know where the grain is coming from. Jaina, Tanya…"

I noticed Jaina directed a sharp gaze my way. I wasn't sure why, but I decided not to give it any thoughts for now. It's bad form not to give the CEO your undivided attention when he is breaking down his marketing strategy. If I have to ask him to repeat his instructions, I might as well say goodbye to my career.

"…I need you to inform your respective organizations and secure the help of the magus and clergy; we will need sorcerers and holy casters for the fight ahead. I will write a message to my father, the king. Hopefully, he can send word of the tainted grain to every corner of the Alliance in time. In the meantime, I will requisition the local soldiers to scrounge up an advance force to stop the distribution of the grain at its source. We will reconvene at the entrance to the town at noon. Is this clear?"

While Falric nodded, I couldn't quite give my assent yet.

"The priests and priestesses are stretched thin with keeping the plague victims alive as it is, and it is only getting worse. I doubt that they will allow me to take any with us without you using your royal authority." I had seen how they had been pushing themselves ragged to keep the plague victims from advancing in the stages of the disease. They actually cared about their patients so the only way to bring them away would be a royal edict. Yet, the response that I was waiting for, that he would allow it under his authority, didn't come. Instead, Arthas had a deeply conflicted look on his face. I decided to give it a push. "We will need healers if we're going to deal with necromancers."

"We can't," Jaina interjected. "If we take away their guards and their healers, there will be no one to defend them if necromancers come to raise those killed by the plague."

"If we take nobody, then that's the same as offering ourselves up to our enemies. You might as well stick your neck out for them to cut it off."

"That's not what I'm saying. We can just wait for reinforcements from the capital city."

"No," Arthas said firmly. "If we wait, there will be countless more victims. Use my authority as prince to gather as many with us as you can; consider it a royal decree. The city will be defenseless, but the capital is near; my father will send troops to garrison the city within less than a day."

"Arthas, if something happens to them—"

"It's a risk we will have to take. Don't fight me on this, Jaina."

"…alright, Arthas."

"If there are no more objections, let's get this done and over with. Meet up at the entrance to the town at noon with everyone who we will be taking with us. Falric, after you are done with your task, secure the horses for us as well."

After a round of nods, we left the house and went our own separate ways.

~o~

The sun reached its apex in the sky as my shadow dipped underneath me. It was hot; there was no doubt about it, but it wasn't an unbearable heat. There was a cool breeze that drifted in from the west, making the glare of the sun feel more like a comfortable warmth on my skin. The only thing that really tainted such a great day was the fact that there was a column of rank and file infantry, all armored in full plate and mounted on a diverse range of horses—pretty much any horse that we could find in town. By the last count, it was a little more than three hundred footmen and twenty riflemen, all mounted. There was also a small group of twelve clerics.

There was a somber and despondent look on the priests' faces, but they had essentially been forced away from their original duty. They had kept those plague victims alive for all this time, and their absence was going to condemn those same people to death. However, I made sure that they understood the necessity of it, even if not all of them agreed to it. Of course, this wasn't every single one of the clergy in Brill; it was just a little more than half their population here. The ones that were being left behind in town were the ones weho were too old to ride or were just trainees.

It took a few minutes before I could find Arthas in all this mess. When I came up to him, we greeted each other and waited for the arrival of the others. It didn't take them long before Jaina and Falric joined up with our party.

"Falric. Jaina. Your reports?"

"My lord," Falric began. "All of the infected grain had been shipped from Andorhal."

Arthas nodded his head and turned his gaze to Jaina.

"High Mage Salramm volunteered seven sorcerers for our endeavor."

"That's it?" Arthas asked with a frown.

"He needs the rest of them to help portal the afflicted to Stratholme along with warning them about the grain. If all goes well, the priests and paladins there will be able to keep them alive long enough for the Kirin Tor to find a cure."

For a moment, Arthas kept his frown, but it gradually lightened.

"It's not what I was hoping for, but it does lighten a burden off my shoulders. Thank you, Jaina."

"Arthas…" Jaina took a step toward him. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here too."

"These are my people, Jaina. Perhaps, one day…"

"Yes, Arthas?" Jain looked hopeful and almost eager.

"Never mind that now. We'll talk more of this later."

Arthas looked away, over to the column of armored riders lined up in neat rows.

"After all of this over," he muttered under his breath, as if making a promise. "I'll make everything right."

Without waiting for a response, the Prince of Lordaeron strode forward to the front, moving with a haste borne of passion and determination. I followed behind him simply because I still hadn't been taught how to ride a horse, and he hadn't really said if I was to ride with someone else. After reaching his horse and mounting it, Arthas reached out a hand and pulled me up. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jaina staring at me incredulously from her own horse, as if not believing her eyes. Yes, it was a bit humiliating, but that was still a little too much just for not knowing how to ride a horse. Even in the modern age, there were still people who didn't know how to drive a car.

Arthas rode the horse the front and turned it about, such that he was now facing his army. Three hundred armored riders wielding sword and shield, weapons that were never meant to be swung from horseback due to their shorter length. At the side, a group of priests rode on horses though a couple of them opted to ride on the same horse. Alongside them was a squadron of twenty riflemen, each of them carrying satchels that were filled with ammunition and supplies. Next to them were the sorcerers, having a somewhat arrogant air about them as they rode on well-groomed horses that obviously belonged to them. I couldn't help but notice that Falric and Marwyn were talking to Jaina, all on their own horses, while the woman aiming another frown in my direction.

"Most of you know my name, but not all of you have ever seen me before," Arthas began, and I could tell that he was pleased with the attention he was getting. The soldiers were looking at him with not an insignificant level of reverence, a testament to his popularity. "Know now that I am Arthas Menethil, Crown Prince of Lordaeron and Paladin of the Silver Hand."

He raised his warhammer and pointed it to the east.

"We go now to Andorhal. Move out!"

Without waiting for a response, Arthas turned his horse around and rode in the direction of the east. The rumble of horseshoes slamming on dirt quickly followed behind us.

~o~

When we rode to the path carved out in between the mountains that acted as an entrance to the Northlands where Andorhal resided, we had to pull to a stop. That was because the camp at the side of the path —a guard checkpoint meant to dissuade the rising bandit population—was unmanned. Arthas sent some soldiers with Marwyn to check it out, and it took them ten minutes to return.

"My lord, the guards are all missing. There are bloodstains, only hours old."

"Orcs this far out?"

"No, my lord. The orcs are not known for disposing of corpses. This may be the work of bandits, but the chests were unlooted. And we found this in an abandoned satchel." Marwyn handed over a bloodstained scroll.

Arthas opened it for a moment with narrowed eyes and then promptly shut it. "This is the missive that I wrote for Andorhal. So my messenger had been killed."

The prince tossed the bloodied scroll back to Marwyn. The captain immediately dropped it in his horse's satchel.

"We have no time to dally now. We're quickening the pace!"

Arthas and I were the first through the gates, but the rest soon followed. We passed some farmland and villages, but while Arthas may not have noticed it, I saw that there was a distinct lack of people. Usually, when there was this much noise from riders, people would come out to see what the commotion was. However, none of that happened. Still, there was no point in mentioning this to Arthas; we already had enough to worry about up ahead.

It wasn't hard to tell that we were closing in on Andorhal since there was a column of smoke rising from the town. As we got closer, the macabre sight came into view. Trails of blood marked the entrance to the town, and we stopped right next to it. Our horses were tired from the hard riding, but most of the soldiers couldn't fight on horseback anyways so they dismounted. It took a couple of minutes for the troop to gather on foot. Even as they stood in practiced rows, apprehension and fear was plentiful on their forms and faces. In spite of that, Arthas forced a march into the town.

As we moved on the blood-stained road, the burning buildings on both sides creating a flickering and crackling ambiance, there were no corpses to be found. There were a few random, shredded body parts here and there, but for the most part, there seemed to be a general lack of even those as well. There were no screams, no moans, no sounds besides the tendril crackle of the burning flames, fanned by the afternoon breeze.

"The letter. They know we're coming," I whispered urgently. "It's a trap."

"Let them try," Arthas replied as he continued moving forward at the lead.

When we came a little distance into the town, we finally found another living soul. Unfortunately, it wasn't one that would greet us graciously.

Standing in the backdrop of the burning town, surrounded by visibly decaying ghouls that were once citizens of Lordaeron—each ravenously feasting on the contents of several open wooden crates—was a old, white-bearded man wearing a black robe. On his head was a skull helmet with two long goat horns that curved out menacingly. His eyes glowed with flaring green light, and his beard was unkempt and messy, having grown all the way down to his waist. In his hand was a plain wooden staff that would have gone unremarked if it weren't for ominous green energy that seemed to circle the weapon, giving it a malevolent aura even to my sight. As he opened his mouth to speak, his stained, yellow teeth stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Hello again, children."

"You…" Arthas gripped his warhammer tighter.

"Yes," the necromancer said. "It is I, Kel'Thuzad."

"The former council member?" Jaina asked. I could hear from her voice a faint trace of recognition as well as horrifying realization.

"Correct, and I've come to deliver a warning," Kel'Thuzad said in a light tone. His next words were in a darker one. "Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you."

"Are you responsible for this plague, necromancer?" Arthas took steps forward as he brandished his warhammer. It was only when the ghouls looked up from their meal that Arthas stopped, but I noticed that their movement spilled some of what was in their mouths onto the floor. It was the plagued grain.

"Yes, I ordered the Cult of the Damned to distribute the plagued grain, but the credit is not solely mine."

"What do you mean?" Jaina asked.

"I serve the dread lord, Mal'Ganis. He is the one who commands the Scourge that will cleanse this land and establish a paradise of eternal darkness."

"And what exactly is this Scourge meant to cleanse?" Arthas asked with a glare.

"Why, the living, of course. Do not fret; his plan is already in motion. Seek him out at Stratholme if you require further proof." Kel'Thuzad laughed as he began to walk away.

"Wait! I'm not done with you!" Arthas made to move forward, but the ghouls surged forward on all four, their mouths snapping open and close.

"But I am done with you," Kel'Thuzad replied calmly, laughingly, as he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Arthas swung his warhammer at the first ghoul, slamming the metal head into its skull-exposed face with a sickening crack. The creature was sent flying back through the air like a twisted torpedo. It smashed into the ground, rolling for only rotation before it dug its clawed fingers into the ground, rending several lines into the stone. It righted itself and rejoined the charge. However, it shouldn't have righted itself in the first place; it should have been smashed apart by Artha's strike instead of just sustaining a few cracks. It took only a moment for me to realize that magic was enhancing them, and they had—just moments ago—been eating grain filled with them.

"Defend!" I shouted out. "The grain is empowering them!"

The column of footmen stacked up, interlocking their shields as they held them at the ready. Even as Arthas stood at the front—a holy barrier appearing around him—as he swung his warhammer with abandon, sweeping through ghoul after ghoul, there were still far more that flooded past him. The first ranks braced themselves as the ghouls smashed into their shields. Even though they were pushed back, the second rank pushed at their backs, helping fight against the impact. The living corpses bit at the shields as their claws swung wildly around it. The razor fingers scratched into the armor, leaving deep cuts in the metal. However, that was all they could do. Over the din of noise, I heard Falric shout out a command.

"Counter and strike!" The footmen pushed out with their shield and lashed out with their swords, hacking at the magically enhanced bone and flesh from the dessicated undead. They struck again and again, and while it did leave them momentarily vulnerable to the ghoul's attack, I worked with the other priests to ensure that they kept in fighting condition, though I kept a close eye on Arthas who fighting alone in front of the shield wall. The riflemen fired out their muskets into the fray, but I could see that they weren't as effective as the dwarves due to their average accuracy and slower fire rate; they actually reloaded the normal way by pouring in a flask of gunpowder, dropping a lead ball in, and using a ramrod to stuff it all at the end. Jaina summoned a concentrated ice storm into the enemies' midst while the other mages shot out balls of fire, adding a deadlier level of firepower to the battlefield.

By the end of the battle, we hadn't lost a single soldier, but I could see the equipment was getting battle worn. Nothing that would require repair, though the scratches of the ghouls were like cuts, looking as if they had knives on their fingertips. While it did look worrisome, each of the footmen wore a gambeson under the chest plate as an additional layer of padded protection so it wasn't likely that they were too injured.

"Is anybody injured?!" I shouted out as an extra precaution. There were a few call outs, and they were quickly taken care of by the nearby priests while the rest took a breather. Well, as much of a breather that you could get in a burning town. However, even that was cut short.

"We cannot let the necromancer escape." Arthas shouted, "Forward!"

At his command, we marched onward through a town on fire. However, despite our advance, no one greeted us on our path. There was an eerie lack of townsmen—living or dead—and a more unsettling absence of enemies. As we made our way through the town, we eventually stumbled upon Kel'Thuzad, calming walking as if he was just taking a stroll through the town.

"Necromancer!" At the prince's yell, Kel'Thuzad glanced over his shoulder for a moment, but he quickly resumed his walk. Arthas was about to step forward to chase him down, but I hurried stopped him.

"It's a trap." How could it not be a trap? On both sides of us were large oaken buildings larger than the normal houses we had seen, able to stable horses or act as a warehouse of some sort. However, the most important observation was the fact that they were somehow not burning, even though the section before and after this portion were on fire. If I couldn't spot an obvious trap like this, then I didn't deserve to be anything more than to eat flavorless gruel.

"I don't care. He has to be stopped now!" Despite my warning, Arthas strode forward. A large hooked chain exploded out of the window in a building to the right, aiming straight for him. With battle instinct born of training and experience, he raised his warhammer, blocking the hook from smashing into him. However, it wrapped around the shaft of his warhammer. A powerful force tried to reel him in, but he braced himself, his feet digging trenches into the ground. "Light, give me strength!"

With a mighty yell and an aura of transparent gold, Arthas swung his warhammer in the opposite direction, yanking the chain and its wielder. The wood of the building exploded outward as a giant mass of flesh burst out of it, smashing into the road and rolling along it, leaving behind a trail of ripped flesh and stagnated blood.

The monster raised its head, one eye hanged loosely from its socket, the stem connecting it to the brain stitched together from multiple differently colored parts. Its mouth had more missing teeth than ones that it had, and they varied in color from black to yellow, chipped to whole. Drool dripped down from his wide maw, lips sliced open down to its chin. Its body was an obese sludge of discolored body parts, stitched together from multiple sources and barely hanging on even at that. In the area where its stomach should have been was a large hole with the edges of the opening serrated with bladed teeth, exposing an enlarge and grotesque collection of intestines. In its right hand was a huge meat cleaver while in its other hand was a anchor-like hook attached to a long chain, the end of which disappeared into its back. There was a third, smaller arm sticking out of its upper back and wielding a disturbingly rusty hand-scythe. When the creature rose to its full height, it towered over the prince, nearly half a body taller.

"That's an abomination…" I didn't know whose voice that was, but it accurately conveyed my thoughts as well.

The monstrosity roared, a guttural sound that was a mixture of dry, wet, and soggy that brought chills through me. Arthas roared back his own challenge as he swung his warhammer, the metal head crashing into the side of the creature's head, shattering its skull as matter and fluid escaped. However, the creature was unperturbed as it swung its cleaver in retaliation, forcing Arthas to step back out of its range.

Before I could even collect myself, four hooked chains burst out of the other buildings. Some of the footmen tried to brace against it with their shields, but the hook smashed into it, sending them flying back. The chains were yanked back, the sharp tip of the hooks each stabbing into a footman's back as they were reeled in. The four men, caught by the hooks, cried for help as they were dragged back speedily into the depths of the building. Screams and loud crunching sounds could be heard, echoing out.

"Destroy the buildings!" Jaina brought her staff to bear, her magical energy gathering into the orb. A flash of frost spurred into existence, assembling into a shard of ice that speared through the air. The moment it pierced through the outer wall of the building, it exploded into high speed fragments that poked holes throughout the building. As if unable to hold itself together, the building collapsed into itself as a mournful, dying groan echoed through the air. Several fireballs from different sorcerers quickly shot out through the air, lighting the other buildings on fire, though their spells were not as spectacularly as Jaina's.

Three abominations broke through the flaming wood of their buildings. Their flesh was on fire and wooded shards were embedded into their monstrous bodies, but the more important thing that I saw was the mangled body that rested in pieces in the mangled hole that was their stomach, right next to the churning intestines. There was no coming back from that.

"Advance!" Marwyn yelled. "Do not allow them to use their chains!"

The footmen rushed forth as the sorcerers kept up their flame assault on the behemoths and the riflemen fired their lead balls into them. The sword and shield soldiers surrounded the abominations, but I could see how ineffective they were. They slashed their swords at its bloated body, slicing into them easily, but it proved no hindrance to the undead creature. Retaliating with its cleaver, it chopped down and ripped the woman in half with ease, as if she was a stack of butter instead of flesh and steel.

"Aim for the legs! Use hit and run! If you lose your shield, cycle out with another!" Even as I shouted, I worked to take stock of the situation. Thankfully, they heeded my advice and sliced into the meaty and thick legs, but that was still far more doable than its bloated body or its out-of-reach head. There was another casualty as one man came too close and the abomination promptly liberated his head from his shoulder. You could say that that I was having an easier time than during the orc battle, though this was mainly due to the fact that each injury was almost always a death sentence; there was no need for healing when they were already dead. I spent my time launching smite and penance spells against the monster, and while there was visible wounds from the holy spells, it wasn't slowing or distracting the creature at all; even aiming for the eyes didn't seem to do much as it seemed to use other senses to accurately attack the living.

As if to counter the thought I had of my job being too easy, the large doors of a nearby warehouse broke open as six more abominations lumbered out of them, their eyes and mouth wild with hunger. More footmen rushed up to them to hold them off as some priests peeled off to help them. Instead of concentrating on attacking, I moved from group to group, healing them as best as I could, acting as a mobile healing station. Pulling out a flask containing blue liquid, I drank down the mana potion, letting the thick, concentrated liquefied energy flow down my throat. Power returned to me, even as I kept on the move.

One footman tried to be a hero and found himself impaled on the cleaver's blade, but like the good martyr that he was, he was prominently stuck on there. The other footmen took advantage of it and finally managed to cut through its leg, sending the monster tripping to the floor. Even then, it lashed out with the hook in its other hand and the hand-scythe in its third hand, forcing the surrounding footmen away.

I didn't have time to pay attention to the rest as Arthas finally finished his duel, having demolished his opponent's arms, legs, and head. Its body squirmed, still full of unnatural life, but the prince ignored it as he ran through the road. I quickly chased after him. At the end of the street was the necromancer, who turned around at our approaching footsteps. With an almost tranquil voice, he spoke.

"This old flesh of mine doesn't move very fast any—" The warhammer slammed into his side, cutting off his words as it rocketed him across the cobblestone street. Rolling to a stop, lying on his front, the necromancer coughed up a mouthful of blood. Arthas walked up to him, his warhammer positioned above the man's head.

"Any last words, necromancer?"

"Naive fool. My death makes little difference in the long run. For now, the scourging of this land…begins…" Kel'Thuzad spat out more blood, just before the warhammer struck down, squashing his head against the cobblestone.

For a time, we stood over his dead body, as if watching to see if it would be rising up in undeath. When it didn't, it felt a bit awkward, but that was soon dispelled by the approach of Falric.

"My lord, the fighting has finished."

"Casualties?"

"The ten abominations have ended the lives of thirty-five good men and women of Lordaeron. A few more have lost limbs, but the priests are working to reattach them," Falric said mournfully. "The troops are frightened, and the spell casters are exhausted. I fear we cannot push on for much further."

"We won't be staying here in this burning town," Arthas said. "Bury the dead and heal the wounded. Then we'll head north and camp just before sunset."

"North, my lord? But Stratholme is to the east in Eastweald."

"We're heading to Hearthglen. There is a little used mountain path that cuts straight to Stratholme so it'll be the fastest route to the city," Arthas replied. "Faster than going on the main path around the mountain range in Eastweald or cutting through those same mountains."

"As you command it, my lord." Falric began making his way back to the troop to relay the information.

When he left, I took a deep breath, and then I spoke.

"The necromancer isn't alone."

"I know. That's why we're making our way to Stratholme to deal with Mal'Ganis."

"No, that's not what I mean." I looked over to the abominations that had become pyres. Funeral pyres for the ones sacrificed to make their creation possible. "There were tons of stitches in those things. Even if he had enough necromantic magic to raise them, there's no way that one person could have stitched all of them in such a short amount of time since they were probably made out of the townspeople of Andorhal. Not only that, but they can't possibly have fitted the entire population of Andorhal into just those ten abominations so what did they do with the rest?"

Artha's frown turned grim.

"Kel'Thuzad mentioned a Cult of the Damned, the Scourge, and Mal'Ganis," I said. "The Cult of the Damned seems to be a different entity than the other two since he did say that Mal'Ganis commands the Scourge."

He remained silent, as if contemplating my words.

I was about to say something more when I heard someone approaching. Turning my head, I saw that Jaina coming, and she wasn't looking happy. I decided that it was best to leave the couple alone and turned to walk back to where the troop were gathering their dead comrades and making sure the abominations stayed dead. As I moved through the street, an idle thought came to me. The burning town reminded me a lot of Strahnbrad.

I just hoped Hearthglen wasn't more of the same.

~o~

Author's Note:

Icura: The subtlety of Kel'Thuzad's machinations always did impress me.

Vahn (Vahnhammer): Oh Tanya , Tanya, Tanya...i'm sure everything will be fine!


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

The thing about riding on a horse was that it was nearly impossible to fall asleep while it was moving in a gallop. Even riding double without having to control the horse—since I was sitting behind Arthas—it was still too hard to do so. It was not like the comfortable seat of a car or a carriage; the fact of the matter was that with each step the horse took, it jostled the saddle enough that it felt that I would fall off if I didn't adjust my balance. Maybe that was because there wasn't a stirrup for my feet, but even holding onto his waist, I felt that if I didn't constantly adjust my legs, I would slide off to the side and fall right off the horse.

Even on a prolonged journey like this one, even though I had somewhat gotten used to the unbalanced sensation, my heart still raced and my adrenaline was still pumping. It was honestly a rather tiring experience. If I had to compare it, I would say that it was like riding on a roller coaster. Could someone fall asleep on that? If someone could, I would congratulate their lack of self-preservation and allow Darwin's Law to take its course. No, as a normal human being, it was impossible to fall asleep on a constantly rocking ride, and just like with a roller coaster's railings, holding on got tiring after awhile. Before, holding onto his waist with just my hands was fine since the journey was relatively short, but after this long, I eventually settled into wrapping my arms around him and pressing my body against his back to provide myself a more secure safety harness.

It wasn't the best sensation, pressing oneself against steel armor, but the better sense of balance that it gave me allowed my heart to beat a little bit slower and my adrenaline to die down. If Arthas had an objections, I had the answer for it on the tip of my lips, the perfect excuse without compromising anything: the truth. However, he never did ask. It would be awkward to bring it up, so I simply left that contingency at the back of mind just in case it ever come up later.

"Arthas," Jaina called out as she rode her horse up to us. She had a particularly disgruntled frown on her face, but that was reasonable since riding this long on a horse wasn't easy for either the rider or the passenger. I did have that same frown moments before, though I changed it into a welcoming smile when I heard her approach. It was best to make good impressions. "Maybe Tanya…excuse me, _Lady_ Tanya should ride with me. My horse would provide a far gentler ride than a warhorse."

I wasn't sure how to take her emphasis on the prefix, but it wasn't a bad offer, and it would provide a chance to build a closer connection to Jaina. Just before I was about to accept, Arthas glanced back at me.

"Do you want to ride with her?

"I…I don't technically need a gentler ride…" I trailed off since I was being put on the spot to choose between two top tier managers. Arthas would indeed be the most beneficial between the two, though perhaps I could use the femininity excuse for a better ride. Well, certainly softer at least since cloth was far more comfortable to hold onto than plate. Now, I just had to phrase it in a way that wouldn't seem that offensive to the other—

"Hm, looks like it doesn't bother her." Arthas turned his attention to Jaina. Well, so much for that. Resigned to my bumpy ride, I slowly closed my mouth.

Jaina fell silent at that. Even though she was still riding beside us, she turned her face away from us to look at the surroundings. When I looked to that same side, I saw another empty farmland. Even though it was early morning when the farmers should have already started tending to their fields, long before the heat of the noon sun would arrive, I didn't see a single person. This wasn't the first time though. All along the route, we had come across farms and small villages, all of which had been emptied out. The soldiers that scouted them out reported that there was no signs of fighting. There were messes in the homes and the valuables had been taken, but instead of the assumption of robbery, it looked more like the inhabitants fled.

It took another hour before we finally reached a watchtower, a guard checkpoint meant to provide security along the only public road to Hearthglen, especially with the recent rise in banditry. It made sense, right? If people were afraid to travel the road, that would mean all commerce to and from Heartglen would be pulled to a stop. So, it was with a bit of awkwardness that once we finally came upon actual, real living people besides a deranged, suicidal necromancer, we found that they were actually intending to leave. The guardsmen were packing equipment and supplies onto carts that were attached to horses. The most notable thing in there was that there were more than few bundles of swords with a rope tightly coiled around them. However, the moment that they saw us moving and recognized our banner, many of them dropped what they were doing and came out to greet us.

And they came out from around their perimeter walls in a rush.

"Milord!" A group of eight guardsmen came to a stop in front of our formation. One of them immediately stood up straight and saluted, even while the rest worked to catch their breath and began to copy him. Unlike the other guardsmen, his armor had a blue cape attached to the pauldrons, signifying his higher ranking among his colleagues. "Thank the Light that you arrived, though I didn't think that you would come personally, Prince Arthas."

"What's going on, sergeant?" Arthas asked. "Why are your men packing up your equipment?"

"It's like what we sent in the report, milord." The sergeant's eyes seemed to widened as he finally notice something. "Um, milord, if you don't mind me asking, but where is the rest of your forces?"

"We never received any report." At Arthas's words, the sergeant's face began to pale.

"That can't be…" The sergeant was looking ghastly at this point. "Five riders to the capital. Did you not see any of them on the road?"

"None." The prince shook his head. "But now isn't the time for panic. Tell me what has happened."

"My…my apologies, milord!" He straightened himself up. "During the night, a vast army of undead warriors emerged and began attacking outlying villages. All the outposts have been recalled back to Hearthglen for the defense."

"What about the civilians?"

"We have evacuated as many as we could, milord, but we dare not go near the undead. Most of the survivors are on the road ahead."

"Where are this vast army now?"

"Best that we can guess, they have receded back to the western mountainside. The lord means to have all the villagers in the town by nightfall."

"Is an attack imminent?" Arthas's hand fell to his warhammer. The men around us tensed up.

"No, milord, but it be safer behind the walls at the very least."

"So we don't know for sure," Arthas murmured as he turned to his sight to the side. "Jaina, I'll stay to defend Hearthglen. I need you to go and warn Uther about what's going on."

"But…"

"Jaina!" He sent her a hard gaze. "There is no time for us to argue. Every minute counts!"

"Alright, Arthas, just…be careful." Jaina then turned to me. "And you…take care of Arthas for me."

"You can count on me, Princess Jaina!" Body rigid, I saluted in a picture perfect military salute, even though I was still sitting on the horse.

Jaina gave me a strange look before she covered it with a resolute nod. Without another word, she stabbed the pointed end of her staff into the ground. Runes lit up the wood as mana flowed from within her body into the instrument, making the orb on top flash with a spiral of colors. It took a few moments, but when it ended, the magic inside the orb exploded outward in a flare of light, forcing me to shield my eyes for a moment. When flash disappeared, so did Jaina, as there was not a trace left of her on the spot where she once was. The only thing that marked her previous presence was the stab mark in the ground.

The sergeant offered to provide us with escort, but in the end, we rejected his offer since it would take too much time to wait for them to pack up. The path after the tower was an uphill trail that we marched along. This time, though, the road wasn't empty. There were many villagers with carriages and carts, being pulled by horses. Many others were simply carrying their meager belongings in sacks over their shoulders, dragging their feet as they made the climb uphill. The people moved aside at our approach, but at Arthas's prodding, they joined our procession. We even slowed down to make sure that the villagers could keep up.

I watched it all with a wary expression. It seemed almost too convenient how an army of the dead appeared the night after our fight at Andorhal. There was no doubt in my mind that they were related, but I didn't have much to go off of except for speculations. If I looked at the events chronologically, then it all started when the messenger sent to Andorhal was intercepted. The message that he carried warned about the grain so that had to be what spurred their decision to destroy Andorhal. However, when we reached there, there was still a necromancer and a small force of undead in town.

Why was he there? There was no reason for him to stay in Andorhal, much less sacrifice himself. Then again, an crippled old man who couldn't run wouldn't be that high on the manpower value so maybe he was purposely given up. Was it to delay our forces so their main army would have time to move? Or was it to direct us here since there was, again, no reason for him to be there or to say the words that he did. He practically gave away the leader's identity and location, which made our new destination become Stratholme. If I took it that way, then we were being lured to Hearthglen, but that also didn't make sense since they shouldn't have known about the mountain pass between Hearthglen and Stratholme. Not only that, but why didn't they simply attack us with their full might while we were on the dirt road?

Unless they weren't expecting us to go to Hearthglen. Maybe they were expecting us to head east to travel the main path to Stratholme, thereby unknowingly leaving Hearthglen to be sacked by the army of undead without any reinforcements. That meant that we were never supposed to be here in the first place.

Well, even if I was right, what could I do with the information? It wasn't going to change the fact that I was stuck in a town that was going to be besieged by the living dead. Was this the fable luck—or misfortune—of a royal heir? Come on! He didn't even have a brother to compete for the throne with.

I held back my sigh as I resigned myself to my fate as his tag-along on whatever death march that the trouble-magnet seemed to always be getting himself into. The most logical choice that anyone would take in this situation was to leave. To simply quit and find another company to be employed at. The problem with that was that Arthas was an extremely famous prince. If I were to leave his employ during a mission, that would lead to a bad reputation, especially with how he was favoring me. Even worse was if he died. If that happened, I probably wouldn't be living pass a week as my absence from the battlefield—since I was a healer—would be blamed as the cause of his death.

However, the risks did match the reward. I had already gained quite a bit with helping in the battle against the orcs. If I made achievements in this campaign, it was likely that I would be set for life. With every entrepreneurship, there would always be liabilities that needed to be taken on to achieve success. I just needed to be smart about it and account for the tendencies of my employer, thereby minimizing the risks while portraying myself as a problem solver.

Even as I made plans and analyzed my situation, I made sure to keep an eye on my surroundings. Still, it was noon by the time that we could see the massive walls that spanned from the mountain range on the west side to the mountain range on the east side, encasing the southern entrance—the only entrance—into the town with stone. As we approached, we could see the top of the walls were manned by archers and gunners, watching our approach though they lowered their weapons upon seeing our banners. The city gates—long wooden doors that were layered with steel—were already open. What caught my attention was the fact that there was a mass of people surrounding the entrance. We already had a procession of villagers with us, but the amount at the gates far exceeded that, numbering at least a thousand. They clustered around the entrance as guards slowly allowed trickles of peasants into the town.

However, our approach of more than three hundred soldiers along with a similar amount of civilians was eye-catching enough for the crowd to turn and watch us with wide eyes. We slowly made our way to the gates as the crowd began to part, though I could see relief in their eyes.

"Thank the Light; it's Prince Arthas!"

"We're saved!"

"Please let us in, milord!"

A group of guards came out, placing themselves against the crowd to make sure they didn't flood toward us. It was disconcerting how—as we traveled through the path that was laid out for us—the refugees begged us continuously, reaching their hands out toward us through the gaps between the guards. At the end of the path, standing in the middle of all that was a man that couldn't have been older than twenty, sporting a face that was rugged and broad. By his side, more heavily armored men with graying hair were standing guard by him, though they were fairly lax in their vigilance.

Upon reaching the end, Arthas hopped down from his horse. He made sure to help me down before he began to walk towards the younger man.

"Taelan! I wasn't expecting you to come greet us."

"Prince Arthas." Taelan bowed his head. Raising his head, he had a relieved smile on his face. "Thank the Light that you came, but are more coming?"

"I have sent word to Uther to send reinforcements. As long as we hold, we will survive," Arthas said. "Now, tell me. Where is brother Barthilas?"

"Barthilas went to Stratholme to become a magistrate there. I am…I am the Lord of Mardenholde Keep now," Taelan said with nervousness. "Hearthglen has been under my rule since four months ago."

"So you're arranging the defense now?"

"Yes," Taelan said with a sigh. "Though, if I had known this would happen, I think it would have been better if Barthilas led."

"There's no doubt that he would have been a valuable asset against this undead army, but don't put yourself down too much. You can still lead your men and swing your hammer."

"Prince Arthas…"

Taelan looked as if he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself and took on a more professional demeanor.

"Let's head in. I believe your troops will need rest after their journey. My men will show them to the barracks." Taelan glanced at the soldiers at his side who promptly went forward to direct and accommodate the arriving soldiers. As for the Lord of Mardenhole, he turned around and looked towards the interior beyond the gates. "I would have liked to have shown you the town in a better light, but things are in a dire strait. I'll update you on the war situation in the Keep."

"Lead the way."

Arthas and Taelan began to walk side by side into the town. As for me, I turned to join the troops being directed to the barracks when I felt an armored arm hook around my own. Looking up, I saw the golden winged helmet of Falric, accompanied by a mischievous grin that was visible through the slits in his helm. At my questioning look, he finally deigned to speak.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To the barracks."

"And you know Prince Arthas wouldn't want you there." Falric yanked on my arm to drag me along while Marwyn came up to our side, looking at the whole thing as if it were normal. "Let's get going."

It was hard to argue against that so I didn't bother to because frankly, I was benefiting. As we made our way through the town, following at a distance behind Arthas and Taelan, I took in my surroundings. Just beyond the gates and the walls that accompanied them was a massive tower that overlooked the gates, standing as an overwatch a small wall to provide a measure of defense, in the case that the gates were ever breached. After that was the main town where the houses—made of wood and stone—resided. In all honesty, the houses were of a similar style and make as the ones in Brill, showing off the type of housing that was probably more frequent the closer that one got to the capital. However, what caught my attention was the amount of people listlessly roaming the roads and sitting on the sides of them.

Farmers and villagers by the appearance of their rough clothings as well as the frayed edges of the fabric, obviously from overuse or simply rough cleaning. It wasn't exactly a depressing mood as they were still chatting, and the townspeople were doing their best to accommodate them, but I could see the worry and stress on their expressions. They quieted down a bit at our appearance, but for the most part, I could still hear some of their conversations. It wasn't just about the threat of the living dead; it was also about what they would be returning to after the undead army was defeated. The fact that they seemed to think of it as "when" rather than "if" showed how much trust they had in the military, but that didn't take away from the fact that they weren't expecting to return to much, speaking about how their homes and farmland were probably be trampled or destroyed, and if they weren't, the bandits would rob the abandoned properties.

"Tanya, you're surprisingly strong." Marwyn's words interrupted my thoughts. Looking to the side, I saw him staring at me.

"Mentally? In this kind of place, I think that's normal."

"It's not."

"It is considering my circumstances. If we take into account that—wait, what's that smell?" I pulled at Falric who still had his arm interlocked with mine. "Do you smell that?"

I could see him sniffing the air and his expression darkening. Mine was as well, since this was a smell that, for the last few days, I had been intensely familiarized with. The smell of rot.

Pulling myself out of his arm, I quickly moved in the direction that it was coming from, and the stench was worsening the closer that I got. There was practically no civilian around, probably also due to the smell and as I got closer, I found out what it was. A batch of crates had been stuffed into a corner with gangs of flies fluttering over it and landing on it. Still, I had to confirm it. Steeling myself, I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve and walked over to it. Pushing off the lid and looking inside, my suspicions were confirmed. I turned to my two companions.

"It's the grain."

"It's not possible," Falric muttered. "The king would have already sent a sorcerer through the portals to every major town in Lordaeron by now."

"If they could have done that, why would Taelan need to send messengers by horse? Why couldn't they send a sorcerer through a portal to Lordaeron to tell them about the undead army? Something must have happened to make that option unusable." As we moved away from the crates of spoiled grain, I could feel my expression turning grim. "We need to tell Arthas now."

We rushed through the street, moving to catch up to Taelan and Arthas who had already gotten a fair distance away. When we approached, the guards by Taelan's side moved their hands to the hilt of their swords, but an open hand held up by the prince stopped them from unsheathing their weapons.

"What is it?" Arthas asked with a bit of a casual arrogance, but that soon fell when he saw the expressions we had on our faces. "What's wrong?"

"Prince Arthas," Falric began even as he was catching his breath. "We found a cache of spoiled grain."

Arthas's expression darkened as he turned his head to look at Taelan. The Lord of Mardenholde simply looked confused.

"Spoiled grain? Yes, some of the grain that the refugees brought with them were ruined, but there was still a good amount usable," Taelan said. "It was almost Light-sent since we did not have enough food in our stores to feed this many refugees for more than a week at most. Without it, they would eventually have to starve."

"Taelan!" Arthas had a frantic look on his face. "Stop the grain distribution. We must stop them from eating at all cost!"

"Wha…what?"

"The grain is poisoned with the plague," I quickly interjected. "If you want your people to live, you need to confiscate all the grain in town and quickly."

Taelan's face paled. He was frozen in shock from the information, but we had no time to waste. Just as Arthas was about to take a step forward, possibly to knock Taelan out of his stupor, I felt a pulse of dark energy. Judging from Arthas stopping mid-step, he did too. There was the sound of muttering in the air—no, chanting. I couldn't make out the words, but I could feel the energy laced within each syllable as that single voice became louder and louder.

And then other voices joined to make it into a chorus.

"Foul sorceries." Arthas brought his warhammer to bear and strode forward. "Stop them!"

With a stride that was faster than a man his size should have been, the prince moved into the midst of a group of confused refugees, stopping in front of a man—a husband and father judging by the woman and little girl by his side. Despite the presence in front of him that sent his teeth chattering, the man refused to stop chanting, even as the prince smashed a mailed fist into his cheek, sending him sputtering to the floor. The wife and daughter screamed in fright and quickly went down to help the man who was spitting out blood and teeth. The other soldiers quickly followed suit, diving into the crowds. However, even as their voice was silenced, they were soon replaced by others.

"Marwyn, protect the healer," Falric said as he began to move in the direction of Arthas. "I'll back up the prince."

Marwyn nodded and stepped closer to me. I tightened my grip on my staff. By this time, the chorus was echoing all around us, such that it seemed like it was coming from the entire town. However, my attention was caught by the man that Arthas had downed. His daughter was on her knees next to him, holding his hand.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Don't cry." The man's smile was as gruesome as it was bloody. "We will meet again in death."

That was when the final note reached a crescendo. How did I know it was the final? That was because several people in the crowd raised their hands into the air. The most ridiculous part was that they were holding loafs of baked bread in their hands. At least, it was ridiculous before they exploded. One woman was laughing maniacally, even as the loaf shattered apart into a purple mist that corroded the flesh of her arms and hands, gradually revealing the bone within. Most importantly, a visible pulsating ripples echoed out from the explosion, seemingly causing a chain reaction as even the bread hidden in bags and the leftover crates detonated, letting out shockwaves. From the sounds, it seemed like that it was happening all over the town.

The visible waves pierced right through me before continuing on its way. I had taken a step back, the wrongness of that feeling nearly overwhelming me for a moment. However, other than that, they had no other apparent effect on me. Looking at my side, Marwyn was similarly unaffected, though I had little time to contemplate that as the sight around me was more than enough to occupy my thoughts. Men and women were clutching their stomachs, groaning as they stumbled or fell. I could see a glowing dark purple light that was visible even under their shirts, though it only took a few more moments before it burned through the fabric, revealing that it had melted through their stomach, intestines, and flesh. Some were still holding on, as if fighting it with their constitution. However, not all of them were as hard; it was the children who fell first…and rose again.

Even as their little bodies corroded, they attacked the people next to them, clawing with their nails and biting with their teeth in a mindless rampage. Even the girl who had been screaming, "Daddy," was biting onto the neck of her father—ripping into it—even as the man smiled and embraced her happily. Those who were attacked or were just weaker in constitution fell first, rising up with glazed eyes and continuously melting flesh. Amidst the confusion, screams, groans, and violence, I heard Arthas's words that seemed to pierce through the noise.

"The plague was never meant to kill my people; it was meant to turn them…into the undead! Defend yourself!"

"Get behind me," Marwyn said calmly, even as he swung his sword at one of the risen. The blade bit through the woman's arm, severing the limb, but she moved forward regardless, forcing him to kick her in the pelvis and force her back.

"There is no behind!" I slammed the bottom of my staff into the ground, sending out a wave of Holy Nova. The power of the holy spell burned at the zombies around me, but it did little to stop them. However, the spell healed some of the guardsmen who were holding their stomachs, lessening their pain enough for them to properly hack at the encroaching undead. I switched to concentrating on healing spells, making sure that there were enough living bodies between me and the nearest walking corpse.

Thankfully, these enemies were slow-moving and lacked the punch of the ghouls and abominations that we faced before. Without the element of surprise, they weren't actually all that hard. It wasn't long before we made short work of them, but we had to slay more than a fellow armored soldier who had fallen in the initial confusion. However, without resting for a moment, Arthas dragged everyone along to wipe out any undead street by street. By the end of it, even the Lord of Mardenholde was as pale as a ghost, sitting on the steps of his Keep as he held his head in his hands.

Blood stained the streets, and the rotting corpses hardly made that better. The ones that had risen and subsequently been slain were already decomposing, bringing with it a untenable stench. There was a line of villagers in chains, being dragged into the Keep toward the prisons. Those were the traitors who were still alive, since many of the chanters were executed on the spot. Fortunately, those ones didn't rise back up after they were killed. The ones that seemed to become an undead were those who died from the plague and those who were killed by zombies. It was a bit of a comfort that it seemed to have some rules behind it.

The traitors who were captured would probably be interrogated, but I doubted they would get much out of them. If that death worshiper could smile as his daughter ate into his neck, I didn't think the rest of them would have much of a breaking point either.

"Gather the corpses and burn them." In place of Taelan, Arthas was directing the aftermath efforts. "What's the report on the food storehouses?"

"Milord, when the grain exploded, they contaminated the surrounding crates."

"How much food is left?"

"A day. Maybe two at most."

It was a grim prognosis.

"That's enough time for Uther to bring reinforcements." Arthas looked over at the mage tower. "Have the sorcerers taken a look at the portal room?"

"Yes, milord, but they say that runes have been corrupted."

"What do you mean by corrupted?"

"New runes had been attached to them, changing its purpose."

"To what?"

"I don't know, milord, but the sorcerers told me that there is not enough magical supplies to repair it."

"What about pigeons or griffons?"

"All dead, milord. Poisoned during the night."

The betrayals ran deep. I could see how the villagers and civilians were clustering themselves off in their own groups, eying each other with suspicion. I wasn't going to say it was unjustified since a good chunk of the traitors had infiltrated among the refugees. Still, it would be much harder to defend Hearthglen with all the distrust going around, but that was starting to draw the picture of the undead army's intent for me. They attacked during the night, but they limited their assault. This allowed time for the villagers to escape which served as cover for the cultists infiltrate among with the refugees in order to bring the plagued grain to Heartglen to take down the town from within.

Though, it would have been more devastating if it was done during the undead army's invasion. It seemed too much of a coincidence that this started when we found out about the grain. Was I being too loud about it and they decided to trigger early because of that? I had far more questions than I had answers, and I doubted any of the prisoners would be forthcoming enough to lend me the answer key.

All in all, we were in a bad situation with low morale, dwindling food supplies, and no real confirmation if reinforcements were coming or not, despite what Arthas said. If there was one consolation, it was the fact that, for anyone who survived, they were no longer plagued. When the cultists had exploded the energy in the grain, it had expended all of the triggered death magic in a burst of energy. As long as they were hardy enough to endure through that—especially with a healer's help—then it was all gone. However, the triggering method was obviously of necromantic magic so figuring that out and using it in a way to get rid of the plague was impossible. Unless of course, we could convince a necromancer to work with us, but when death wasn't much of a threat to them, there was hardly any stronger method of convincing them.

"What do you think about all of this?" I asked that question to the captain standing beside me, who had been keeping guard over me for the last couple of hours. Marwyn had been adamant about staying by my side, and I wasn't going to argue against that, especially since there were still traitors around who could insert a dagger into my back.

"There will be a reckoning," he said. "Prince Arthas will make sure of that."

As I looked over at Arthas who was still directing the people to deal with the aftermath, I wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or not.

~o~

There was a strange tension in the war room as Arthas and the other captains stared at Taelan. In my opinion, the young man was looking completely overwhelmed by his responsibilities and the expectations laid on his lap. He appeared to be good potential officer material, but it was obvious to anyone watching that he was fairly raw. Based on what I knew about him and his family, perhaps Arthas was giving him a chance to to prove himself and wipe away the stain on his family's reputation caused by his exiled father. Taelan himself must have known it too since he seemed even more under pressure than when we talked earlier.

As the seconds dragged on, the atmosphere became more and more awkward, such that the various captains were glancing at each other, as if trying to will the other to break the silence. However, before it could drag on for any longer, Arthas laid his warhammer on the table and give each person a glance.

"I'll be taking over the defense. Any objections?" Arthas waited a moment, but no one spoke up. "What's the status of our soldiers?"

One of the other members, a middle-aged man without a single strand of hair on his bald head spoke, "We had many wounded to account for, my lord, but your girl went through them like a dwarven machine. Our healers could barely keep up, and her capacity of mana can only have been considered as touched by the Light."

"I need numbers."

"Three thousand soldiers along with the three hundred you brought. Four thousand if we include the militia," he said. "Mostly footmen. The rest are a mix of archers, riflemen, sorcerers, priests, and engineers. We also have some elven priests and dwarven mortar teams."

I perked up my head at the last mention.

"Mortars?" I asked eagerly. "What's their range and blast radius?"

The man gave me a strange look, as if asking why a priestess was asking about warfare. "You would have to ask the dwarves, girl."

I intended to do just that.

"What is the enemy's number and composition?" Arthas asked.

"Too many to count. At least seven times our numbers and rising from what we gathered from the refugees and scouts," he said with a grim air. "Most of those are shambling corpses with varying levels of mutations. Some have bladed teeth and claws. The scouts have also spotted stitched together giants and spell-casters who are raising the dead even as we speak."

"The recently raised are zombies, as we have already experienced. The rest are ghouls, abominations, and necromancers." Arthas looked contemplative. "It's concerning. There's never been a army of the dead this vast or varied before. For them to be this many…"

"Our scouts have also found them chopping down trees, but for what foul purpose, we know not."

"Then we'll prepare for the worst. We'll need to make several battle lines. The first line of defense will be outside the wall. The second will be at the wall and gate. The third will be just behind the wall with the inner tower. The fourth will be in the town itself. The last will be here, at Mardenholde Keep," Arthas said as he directed everyone's attention to certain points on the map of Hearthglen. "How is morale?"

"Both high and low. The children were the first to succumb."

"Grieving mothers and fathers make poor soldiers and militamen," Arthas said. "They'll be reckless."

"They'll rearing for revenge. We have to take who we can get," he responded. "We've more weapons than we have soldiers to wield them."

"Have someone at least teach them to swing a sword or jab a spear. I'd rather not provide free bodies for the necromancers to raise."

"What about the siege weaponry?"

"We have forty eight ballistas."

"Concentrate them on the first, second, and third lines. The first and second takes priority," Arthas said. "If we cannot hold them back at the wall, then it's likely we will have to fall back to Mardenholde Keep. The fourth line is merely to cover our retreat. We cannot afford to fight them in the close quarters of the town or risk being overwhelmed by their numbers. It is imperative that we concentrate on chokepoints."

A gruff laugh came from one of the female captains who promptly quieted down when attention focused on her.

"The men and women of Hearthglen are of a hardy stock. Our forefathers had held the wall for generations. We won't be the ungrateful children who shames them."

"No, if the wall falls, then it falls," Arthas said. "The lives of my people are more important than stone and masonry."

"Then, my lord, you don't understand your own people."

As I looked at the map, I could tell that there wasn't really any good options. We could burn the forest to narrow their point of entry to just the main path, but the problem with that was that Hearthglen was surrounded by mountains, such that the wind would be funneled from the forest toward the town. That meant that we would be suffocated from the smoke whereas the undead wouldn't be bothered by that. That single fact threw half the effectiveness of that plan out the window. There were also traps we could use. However, using traps in warfare was not for killing people but for lowering morale and creating areas of denial. However, considering that the undead had no morale to influence, it was a moot point. In fact, no matter what tactics or strategies that I could come up with, they were for an opposition that had normal parameters. The problem was that the undead was anything but normal.

This was an army with no sense of self-preservation. Was I fighting the Federation again?

The best method for dealing with the Federation was funnel them into a chokepoint and crush them or to use a heavy dose of artillery. Seeing as how they had enough bodies of the walking dead variety which lacked any sense of fear, a chokepoint would eventually be overwhelmed by them just throwing themselves on it. That meant that the better alternative was to concentrate my efforts on artillery. While the rest of the war council became focused on the battle lines and contingency plans, my thoughts solely revolved around meeting up with the dwarves and hashing out the details of their defense. When the council adjourned for a break, I talked with Arthas and received permission to talk with the dwarves. Thus, I made the forge workshop my first destination.

~o~

Standing inside the forge workshop, in the midst of dwarves hammering on anvils for whatever project they were currently doing—which I was pretty sure was not the regular weaponry since we had an overabundance of those with our recent losses—I felt sweat dripping down my forehead. It felt like I was back in the deserts of the Southern Continent. The heat was sweltering, and for once, I was glad for the more skimpier nature of my priestess robe since it would have been far hotter under multiple layers of fabric like the more traditional clothing. Looking at the dwarves—some of whom were giving me the occasional glance of curiosity, probably due to it being rare that a priestess would be in a forge workshop in the first place—I could see that their rough and coursed clothing were covered with soot and burn marks, and their sleeves were cut short at the shoulder, exposing biceps that bulged with muscles that were on par with the size of my head. They were definitely short, reaching only to half my height, but their beards were impressive enough that they reached down past half their body height. The dwarf who was leading me through this swelteringly hot place was not the master blacksmith, but the assistant.

"Aye, lassie. You see where I be pointin' the light? That there, at the bottom of the tube, is the firing pin." The dwarf was holding a torch near the mouth of the smooth-bore metal tube.

"That's a piece of flint shaped into a rod. Did you ever clean this? There's gunpowder staining the insides," I said even as I took a step back. "Don't hold the torch too close to that."

"It'll be fine, lassie. Burnt eyebrows builds character."

"How many burnt eyebrows have you had…?" I trailed off as I noticed that he didn't have eyebrows; those were actually just splotches of soot and ash.

That was the worst about the dwarves; the most grievous flaw that stood to relegate any positives back to the stone age was the fact that weapon safety was not an issue for them. What part of handling volatile explosives was not an issue? It was to the point where one had to wonder if these mortar teams were either suicidal or actively working for the enemy. Anyone who stood with them was liable to get blown up as well, never mind the fact that they were supposed to be on a massive wall that was liable to be breached upon their explosive deaths.

If the madman who responded to the label "Dr. Schugel" was here, I would have recommended these dwarves as testing candidates. Just give them some ale, and they were liable to ignore a ninety percent death rate disclaimer. What part of innovation required the death of its participants? No modern company would be caught dead with that kind of reputation. However, I supposed that Azeroth wasn't that civilized of a world.

To further explain, a mortar team consisted of two dwarves. The first dwarf would hold the mortar tube, using a tripod to aim and handle some of the recoil even though they literally had to manually aim it and thus prop the bottom of the tube against their chest or abdomen while holding onto the shaft with their hands and arms. They usually carried a backpack of mortar shells which a second dwarf would take a shell and drop it into the mouth of the mortar tube, letting the weapon do the rest.

How the mortar shells worked was that the explosives would be on the top end while the bottom end carried the gunpowder charges. At the bottom, there were several fins so that when it was placed into the tube's mouth, the fins would be scraping the inner walls of the tube so the shell would be exactly centered, such that the rod-shaped flint firing pin would hit the center when the shell reached the back, setting off a spark from the flint scraping the metal and igniting the gunpowder charges. The resulting explosion would propel the mortar shell out of the tube. In a sense, it was based off of similar principles to the ones in my previous worlds, even if the mechanisms were of a more primitive design and material. However, one of the problem with using flint was when there was no spark or the spark didn't ignite the gunpowder charges.

Instead of doing something sensible like dismantling the tube, they instead would tip the mortar tube downward so the shell would slide out and the second dwarf would catch it coming out. There was so many problems with this that it boggled me, not least of which was what happened if he caught it too hard and triggered the impact fuze. Not only that, but the flint would slide against the metal on the way out, setting off sparks that could ignite the gunpowder charge while the tube was aimed downward in front of them. When I voiced my concerns about the obvious safety issues, the dwarf shrugged his shoulders.

"They were good dwarves."

What an inane response! This was the kind of madness that made me glad that I wasn't born a dwarf.

"What is your targeting doctrine?"

"Targeting doctrine? Aim for wherever and have it go kaboom!"

It was the level of response that I was coming to expect. When I asked about the range and blast radius, it turned out to be a bit further than a grenade launcher with the blast radius of little more than a grenade. For what was termed as a mortar team, it seemed more like a grenadier team. My expectations of the support of artillery was gradually lowering with each conversation point that we hit upon. By the end of the conversation, I was sufficiently demoralized. Any notion of reviving the god of artillery had been thoroughly crushed by the reality of the situation, but it wasn't soul-crushingly bad; I could still use them as an enhanced grenadier team.

I just had to make sure that they had the right targets. While they could take out clusters of zombies and ghouls in a single payload, it wouldn't have the same demoralizing effect so it was more advisable for them to aim at the bigger targets like the abominations and the spell casters. Also, the enemy was cutting down trees so they were obviously building something. The first thing that came to mind was battering rams, ladders, and siege towers, but I wasn't even sure if the undead even knew how to use these properly; a ladder wasn't going to last long under a ghoul's claws. Still, it was better to be on the cautious side and assume that their appearance on the battlefield was possible. Of course, a well-aimed mortar shell could take care of that. After talking it over with the dwarf, we came to an agreement of sorts so there was nothing else for me to do there.

I left the forge workshop soon after. Right outside, Falric was waiting with an almost expectant look, but I simply shook my head. With a sigh on my lips and a shrug on his shoulders, we walked onto the road, a cobblestone path that was sparser than usual. Still, there were people mourning in the streets while groups were looking at each other suspiciously. Guardsmen were moving in and out of houses, clearing them of any zombie remnants and checking for any signs of cultist activity.

"This is a town on the brink of collapse," I simply said in a matter of fact way. "The higher-ups are so busy with the upcoming battle that they don't seem to notice it or care."

"This is a simply a short stop. Stratholme is our goal."

"You say that as if you know we're going to survive this."

"I know so," Falric said. "I don't know many things, but Prince Arthas has always led us true. The bloodline of the Menethil will not end here."

"You do know that he has a sister, right?"

"T-there will always need to be a heir to the throne." He quickly turned his helm away. "We… The people cannot wait decades for Princess Calia to give us a true born heir, and there will never again be one so qualified as our Prince Arthas."

He definitely forgot.

~o~

Warning came shortly after night had fallen. There was a frantic flurry of motion as the town shifted into gear. Civilians were evacuated to Mardenholde Keep while every able and willing body was brought to the front gates. Under the light of the full moon, the first battle line was formed from the melee combatants and support while those who had ranged abilities or skills were placed on the walls.

In front of the line, ranging all the way to where the forest and the downhill path began, were tons of barricade crosses of wooden and metal make, their design more to hinder the flow rather than to stop it. As for the line itself, the first rank consisted of footmen at the front, nervously holding their metal kite shields. Behind the footmen was a line of militiamen, holding onto their spears, ready to jab into the gaps. They had varying expressions on their faces, ranging from fury and rage to worry and apathy. Further behind them was a collection of priests—both humans and elven—who were readying themselves for the carnage ahead. The only break in the line was for the engineers operating the ballistas to have enough space to fire from, stationed behind a stone palisade and supplied with bundles of bolts.

Tension mounted as time slowly crawled foward, but it wasn't long before the first of the monsters appeared from the darkness of the forest. The footmen began to unsheathed their swords at the appearance of a shambling dead, a woman who would have looked like the normal stereotypical villager if it weren't for her disheveled clothes, bloodied wounds, and the dark veins that crisscrossed her pale skin. As she stumbled and scrambled forward, single arrow flew across the battlefield and pierced into her eye. There was a small flash of light, accompanied by a crackling sound. Tendrils of thin smoke drifted from every hole in her face as she collapsed to the ground, unmoving. It was an anti-climatic end to an anti-climatic entrance.

At the top of the wall, the archer—a captain by the gold plate of his armor—lowered his bow. Alongside him, there were archers, riflemen, sorcerers, dwarven mortar teams, and engineers manning ballistas. If I could have been up there, I would have chosen to do so, but since I was a priestess, I was expected to heal the frontline soldiers despite the obvious dangers involved in that task. Even in modern wars, field medics had always been targeted despite only being there to keep the wounded from dying. Clerics were far more potent so my threat level was far higher; if there was any competent commander behind the undead, they would target the healers first.

Due to my special status, I was positioned behind Arthas, and he was my main concern despite how much of a skilled fighter he was. That was because of his recklessness, as if he expected others to clean up after him. Well, actually, that was a rather reasonable personality trait if I took his royal heritag into account, but it didn't change the fact that it made keeping him alive far harder than it should be, and it wasn't like I could let him die in any case. Even if the town fell, escape was still possible through the path to Stratholme, and if anyone was going to escape, it was going to be the royal bloodline. As long as I stuck by his side and made sure he came out alive, my escape route and future livelihood was practically secure.

More of the shambling dead shuffled out of the forest in a mad scramble. Arrows began to fly through the air, though the rifleman didn't fire nor did the pseudo-artillery teams start their barrages. Whenever the zombies came close, the footmen hacked them apart. However, it wasn't a wave but a mass that kept being vomited out of the darkness of the tree line, churning out zombies as if it was a hatchery. It wasn't long before ghouls running on all four came out of there, moving with speed in between the zombies with their enlarged jaws hanging open, their blade-like teeth and long tongue lolling out like a dog's. The riflemen began to fire their muskets, smoke and loud noise ringing out from the battlements, but the zig-zag patterns that the ghouls moved in as they swerved in between and around the regular zombies made them difficult to hit.

"Stand steady! Hold your ground!" Arthas's voice rang out, loud and heavy-handed, as he swung his warhammer, the metallic head shattering the skull of a ghoul that approached within his reach. The footmen acted defensively, holding up their kite shields and fending off the claws of the ghouls. The militiamen behind them stabbed out with their spears, distracting the ghouls enough for the footmen to begin hacking at them with their sword. The ballistas on the ground floor shot out large bolts, spearing straight through multiple undead creatures like meat on a barbecue spit.

Up top, the sorcerers began casting spells, sending down rains of frost and flames that ravaged the battlefield, providing some relief for the men and women below. Though, the mortar teams and the ballistas on the wall refrained from firing. However, they didn't stay silent for long. The first of the abominations lumbered through the trees, shattering one with a swing of its meaty arm, as it came under the illumination of the moon. It was soon followed by a few more of the massive sludges of waddling flesh. Large bolts pierced into them even though they couldn't pierce through the mass of fatty tissue that composed the creatures while mortar shells rained down in curving arcs, the explosions sending a few of the malformed creatures off their feet. One of the shells entered the open stomach cavity of an abomination, and its detonation completely burst the creature as if it was a balloon.

Even from where I was standing, I could tell that the battle was going well. However, I knew that there was still the spell casters out there and whatever else they had in reserve, so I waited for the other shoe to drop.

And waited. And waited. And waited even more.

By the time that the moon was almost falling, I was long tired of waiting. The line of footmen and milita had been changed out several times throughout the night, and except for fatigue causing mistakes, there hadn't been that many permanent casualties. For a supposedly vast army of undead, it seemed more like an endless horde of throwaways. It was a long, endless rush of bodies that dealt more damage to our stamina than our health. It was only with the sun starting to peek out beyond the horizon that the endless wave finally trickled to a stop.

There were times when I was told to change out, but with Arthas being stubborn enough to stay on the battlefield the whole time, I couldn't allow my ticket to safety to be at any risk. Thus, I had to stay put on the battlefield the entire time, healing and making sure that the prince wasn't being too reckless. Well, I said making sure, but it consisted of me shouting for him to come back, and those near him dragging him back to the battle line. At the end of it, I was plain tired, but still, I gained a few points of respect if I was correctly interpreting the looks sent my way.

A few of the dwarves came down from the wall and went up to me with happy grins.

"Your advice worked out well, lassie. It's a true test of skill to aim for the holes in them stomachs, and that boom was enough to bring a tear to my eyes." The dwarf laughed. "Managed to show the rest that me and my partner are the best shot in all of Hearthglen! I got a barrel of ale from my winnings, and I think you be deserving enough of a human to share some with!"

I was about to answer back to reject his offer since I was already far too fatigued as it was, but my words were cut short when I felt a massive pulse of dark energy. My eyes turned to the forest, and I could feel that everyone around me, even those not affluent in the magical arts, were looking there as well. Under the rising dawn's twilight, its red illumination revealed that, at the edge of the forest, there were three unnaturally large and looming skeletons in majestic robes that had magical runes inscribed into the fabric. Jewelry and trinkets hanged from the robes and were worn on their bony fingers and wrists. Ethereal light blazed from their empty eye sockets as necromantic magic flowed in between their skeletal hands.

There was another pulse as a wave of death magic spread throughout the battlefield. The corpses, those that were not mangled or broken enough, began to rise on their own, as if rising into their undeaths once again. They had been chopped down or shot before, but they rose again regardless, as if to say that we hadn't dismembered them enough. A grim toll was taken on our morale as swords began to slide out of sheathes once again. However, against our expectations, the shambling and rotting dead began to shuffle away, back into the forest. As they moved, leaving behind those corpses that were too broken to be revived into unlife again, the lich in the middle of the trio floated forward, his feet levitated above the ground as his voice echoed through the air, amplified by his magic.

"Pathetic." His voice was moderated, normal if condescending in sound and tone, but its volume went beyond a loudspeaker, almost like it was speaking right next to me into headphones. "I need not have been so cautious. Enjoy the reprieve, for tomorrow, you will face the full might of the Scourge."

A low menacing chuckle whispered into my ears.

"But perhaps, you wish to be spared the horrors that is to come. You can be. Simply lay down your arms. Serve the Scourge willingly and the master may gift you eternal undeath. Why must it be elves and dwarves who live longer lives?"

I could see some elves and dwarves glaring in the lich's direction while some human soldiers were glancing to look at them.

"Come, embrace undeath, and see civilizations fall to dust before your very eyes, for all are equal in death!"

"No!" Something inside me snapped, and the word was out of my mouth even before I realized it. It echoed in the ensuing silence, but I had no choice. That…thing's proposal was completely contradictory and asinine!

In any case, it was too late to back out now since all eyes were on me. With no other choice, I climbed up on top of the stone palisade that had been laid out in front of the ballista, making sure that my feet were steady and staggered apart so that I wouldn't fall off by a stiff breeze. My mind raced, but even then, I already knew what I wanted to say. The words and beliefs that were already inside of me.

"Eternal life? What a sham!" I held my arms out to the sides even as I raised my voice. Even as I did so, I saw that thing bristle at my firm rebuttal. "Tell me. What's good about being raised into undeath if you lose everything that makes life worth living?"

I stretched out my arm and pointed straight at the lich.

"Love, hate, and friendship. Can you still feel those? Do you even feel anything? Can you savor the sweet and bitter taste of wine? Can you relish in the smells of a carefully prepared meal? Can you feel, can you touch, can you even make love anymore?"

I remembered the life that I lived in Japan. The parents who looked at me with both expectations and hope. The study books that were wrinkled to ensure my future.

"You're nobody, and no one will remember you. Yet, you don't even know the shame of that because you can't understand any of its meaning anymore. For you were a coward who found life too hard and chose the easier path of death, erasing your own name as if it was a badge of honor! Only those alive can understand its hardship and worth. So what if you can see the world ages later when you can't appreciate it."

I had worked hard all my life. In every life in the hopes of having a better future. Even now, I was still working towards that hope.

"Without the ability to feel, to taste, to experience, to hope… Without all of that, you're nothing but a worthless, walking corpse who contributes _nothing_ to the society!"

As my voice died down, as the end of my improvisational speech and unintentional slip echoed across the battlefield, an explosion of cheers erupted all around me, deafening in its volume and vibrancy.

"Way to go, lass." One of the dwarves laughed heartily with his hand on his belly. "If I couldn't drink ale or bed my wife, then life's not worth living!"

By placing drinking first, was he implying that ale was more important than his wife?

"Enough!" A sound shockwave pulsed throughout the area, but it did nothing to abate the cheers. "Your society is as meaningless as your lives! As for you." He pointed his skeletal finger at me. "Mark my words; before the next night is over, I'll have you on your knees and begging for release!"

One of the dwarves stomped his foot onto the stone palisade, propping his leg up as he shouted.

"You'll get to the lass over my dead body! But you would like that, wouldn't ya? Have at me then, you bag of bones!" The dwarf roared with laughter at his joke while more than a few of his fellows joined in.

The liches didn't deign to reply as they left, vanishing into the darkness of the forest. When they finally left, I exhaled all of the air in my lungs. There were very few things that I despised to my core, and communism was one of them.

Equal in death? What a joke! Isn't he the equivalent of a high ranking official in a communist regime? Is he really trying to recruit to gain free labor with something as idiotic as eternal undeath? That is like saying that you should be grateful for being granted citizenship so show your gratitude by working in harsh conditions for minuscule payment. Desire is what capitalism is based on. Exchanging work for payment which could then be used on living necessities and luxuries. It is an equal exchange. However, communism is the basis of an unequal exchange, relying on more labor for less payment on a national scale as well as a suppression of desire to mitigate any resistance. This Scourge is essentially just communism, taken to the extreme. And even if you receive payment, what can you even use it for since the undead does not need any living necessities and can't experience any pleasure from luxuries? A trick and a sham! By the time you realize the truth, you would be in so deep that you wouldn't care anymore as you would be a hollow husk of your previous personality.

The purpose of eternal life is to extend your current life, not live a life of slavery and apathy that might as well not be a life.

Of course, I didn't have much time to think about it before I was shuffled off to a victory celebration.

~o~

In the town, the celebration was already in full swing in every bar and tavern. Despite the fact that we were going to head into battle again when the next night begins, everyone was acting as if they had won the war. It was permissible in a sense to raise morale and to make sure that everyone was in a fighting mood, but some of us didn't actually get a chance to rest. While the rest were switching in and out of the prolonged battle, I was stuck there the whole time because of Arthas. Speaking of who, he was actually joining in on the victory celebration despite the fact that he should be exhausted, downing mug after mug of ale. Just how much stamina did he have?

Well, I would have liked to ask that, but I could tell that he was barely holding on as it was. I had been with him constantly for a last couple of days, and I was observant enough of my superior officer to tell that he was wearing a mask. It was obvious why, though. The people around him needed something to celebrate about, especially with the grain tragedy having struck deeply. Despite their pains, everyone was congratulating me, but they didn't stick around since they could see plainly that I was tired. As for him, they stuck around and actively engaged him in conversation and revelry, but whether he was enjoying it or not, I believed that it leaned more towards not.

Picking up my mug of ale, half emptied since people kept slapping me on the back enough times to spill a good majority of it, I made my way over to Arthas. They were singing some kind of bar song that was constantly interrupted by and laughter, though it did quiet down a bit when I entered the picture.

"My liege, can we talk in private?" If anything, my words sent the rambunctious crowd into another set of laughter as they 'helped' pull the mildly buzzed prince up from his seat.

I tugged at his sleeve and led him outside, into the bright glare of the sun. It was still early morning, but after that kind of night, many residents of the town were getting sleep or taking a nap. There would be a lot of work in the afternoon to prepare for the coming battle, and it would probably be far more intense if we go off of what the lich had said. We walked over and stood under the shade of a large tree, standing by side to each other.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I noticed you were tired," I said. "You haven't gotten any rest yet."

"For paladins, the Light infuses us periodically with renewed vigor. We have been trained for long, enduring battles. I have little need for rest."

"Is that so?" While I didn't know much about paladin's abilities or their training, it sounded like an exaggeration. If the holy light could provide that much, then why wouldn't I have that as well? The closest spell that I had to that would be power word: fortitude, but that was at a far smaller scope than what he was suggesting. Well, he had been putting up that invulnerable front to everyone so it wasn't like showing that to me was any different. "While your body might not need rest, your mind does."

"I'll consider it."

"Then my work is done. I'll go get some sleep." I began to walk away.

"Tanya." At his call, I stopped and glanced at him.

"Yes?" There was a moment of silence as I patiently waited for him to speak. It dragged on for a few more moments. Still, I waited until he finally opened his mouth and spoke.

"…sleep well."

"I will. Take care." I walked away briskly, heading toward where my assigned sleeping quarters were. However, I was inwardly giddy.

That was because it seemed that I was making a better impression. The fact that he hesitated on whatever he was about to say meant that he would be thinking about the topic at a later time. Some people would think that would be a bad thing, but it was in fact a good thing. The reason for that was that it left a lasting impression of me since I was now associated with that topic. The key to making a good impression in an interview was not just to have a good meeting, but to keep yourself on their mind long afterwards. That was why it was necessary to send a letter or email after an interview with a prospective employer to remind them of you and to keep yourself as a fresh memory in their heads. That way, even when they were interviewing other candidates, they would remember you. That was essential, and in this case, I was increasing my market value. When I reach a certain milestone, I would become too valuable to risk on frontline affairs.

I was, thus, one step closer to my goal!

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Icura: Heartglen got too long. I wanted to keep it all in a single chapter, but that's too much.

Vahn (Vahnhammer): Taelan is inconsistent so this is how I decided to come up with a way to reconcile everything. As for Hearthglen, had to be into two parts. The story flow would have been weird otherwise. We also use the Heartglen in game of WoW instead of Hearthglen WC3 map and then had to think of a way to reconstruct that siege in a way that made sense as the WC3 map made little sense. Oh and one more thing. The whole reason why this siege is more than one day is because of the day/night cycle during the WC3 mission itself. So we are aware of the Arthas novel, but again, we have to reconcile for what works best.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

I woke up by the late afternoon.

Stretching out my arms and legs, I languished lazily in bed. It didn't feel like it was time to get up. However, when I pulled at the curtains a bit, what was revealed to me was the late afternoon glow. Judging from the position of the sun, I had a few hours before nightfall so that meant that it had been a good seven to eight hours of sleep, enough to revitalize anyone's mind and body. There was a small, traitorous notion to stay in bed, but the enemy of efficiency was idleness. If I didn't use my time to the fullest, then I couldn't leverage that as an achievement. What kind of superior would promote someone who shows that kind of wastefulness? Only the most careless and brainless. Thus, the first step to receiving a higher position was looking like you belong in that position.

Forcing myself up, I stretched out my limbs again and went into a few calisthenic exercises. The point of these habitual exercises was to keep healthy, a habit that I had brought over my original life. With the lowering birthrate in Japan along with the fast growing aging population, it had become necessary for companies to implement health routines and check-ups to ensure their employees stay productive as well as raise the retirement age. Of course, black companies and smaller companies wouldn't implement these kind of routines, but I had made sure that I was working at a global multinational corporation that had been rated as one of the top companies in Japan. Not that it mattered now. It stung all the more when I remembered that I had been on the fast track to becoming a department manager, just before I was unfortunately murdered and subjected to the whims of an undefined being of multidimensional capabilities. Still, in spite of everything, the routine had stuck with me, such that I did it in the morning and every few hours if I could get a break at those times.

After finishing my morning routine, the first order of business was to drink a cup of coffee. The thing about living in a war torn area was the necessity of normality. However, I was never that great at making coffee or even cooking a good meal. The cup of morning—or late afternoon in this case—wakefulness turned out to be far more watery than I anticipated. Still, it was not nearly as bad as the liquid tar or jelly that the Empire supplied to the frontlines. Taking a sip of my more water than grounded coffee bean drink, I took another look outside my window.

There were plenty of people up and about, working hard for the defense. However, even then, there were also people who I could see were clearly in mourning but still working. I could understand, to an extent. They suffered an immense tragedy yesterday. However, everyone needed to work for survival. In any civilized nation, there would be a period for mourning. Unfortunately, we didn't have time for that with the impending attack, but it was also in my opinion a bad idea to put those suffering from recent tragedies to work. The mistakes they would make while consumed by their emotions could cause far more trouble than they were worth. It was like asking an air flight controller to go to work right after her husband died; that was just asking for a catastrophe.

Not that I could do anything about that. Or should.

I yawned into my hand. It was time for me to get dressed and acquire food. Throwing off my sleeping clothes onto the bed, I quickly put on my uniform robe. Normally, it would have been fine to just put on a regular robe that could be provided from any village or town, but with the fact that cultists were still lurking around, it was safer for me to wear my battle robes just in case. While it was true that I hadn't cleaned it, one of the many runes infused into the robes was a minor self-cleaning enchantment. Due to the pristine image that clerics were supposed to portray, it was a necessary expense in order to maintain their reputation. A priestess preaching in clean robes was obviously going to attract more new conversions than one in dirty robes. Though, it was convenient to have since I could just had leave it in my closet before and it would become pristine by the time I woke up.

Patting down the wrinkles, I left my sleeping quarters. When I opened the door, I half-expected to find Falric waiting just outside, but a quick glance around showed he that he was nowhere to be found. Despite being bereft of my bodyguard—possibly due to my new strange sleeping hours—this wasn't too much of an inconvenience for me. As long as I stayed in open and public places where there were at least a few people, it wouldn't be hard to be forewarned of an assassination attempt on me.

No. I shook my head, chiding myself. That was a deadly assumption. A dagger in the back was as dangerous as a danger in the front. A skilled assassin could commit murder in broad daylight and get away with ease in the alleyways, and to assume that I could cope against a trained professional was hubris. The first order of business was to find my wayward bodyguard—wait, why was I thinking of myself as an important target?

There were dozens of other priests and priestess, some of whom are of the elven variety. Why would I be targeted before them? If I hear about any other cleric getting murdered, that obviously would be a clear sign, but no one had woken me up or stationed guards around my quarters. That implied that nothing had happened, and as long as I stayed on the public roads, nothing would happen. There were even kids running around in the streets with one tripping over and scrapping his knee when he tried to run and wave to me at the same time. After casting a Renew on him, I told them not to play around too much when their parents were working hard since there were scary people hiding around. They, of course, nodded and went right back to their playing. That was one of the differences between Azeroth and Earth. In my original world, after such a tragedy, they would have been ushering the children inside to keep them safe. Yet here? It seemed far less cautious. Well, a factor for that could be that much of the terror attack yesterday had struck at the refugees rather than the main inhabitants, even though it was a bit callous reasoning.

Shaking my head in exasperation, I began walking through the town to complete my first objective: mapping out the escape routes. The thing about a town of this size was that navigation wasn't necessarily straightforward. Assuming that we were running with a large party, alleyways would typically not the best way to get around, though they provided a chokepoint in case of an attack. Still, all the paths for escaping had to be heading toward the east. The undead would be invading from the south while west and north were blocked off by mountains. Even though the east had mountains, it also contained the supposed path to Stratholme.

As I walked through the town, people smiled and waved at me. They came up to me, shook my hand, and said a few words. I replied back with perfunctory words about Lordaeron and the Light. Honestly, it was a bit much attention for one speech, especially since some of the mourners were coming up to me and telling me their personal stories of tragedy, as if I was a psychiatrist or a nun running a confession booth. Of course, I kept up my image as a priestess and tried to individualize my responses a little to make it seem that I was wholly attentive, though behind that layer, most of my words were the usual ones. The excuse that I needed to prepare for the defense was more than enough to get me past the insistent ones. Still, the attention wasn't too bad, and it certainly helped to keep me in the public eye enough that it would be harder to stick a knife into my back.

When I finally made my way to the east end of the town, I found a smaller gate there that was guarded by several guards. Due to my role and slight fame, they weren't suspicious of me so it was easy for me to confirm that this was in fact the route to Stratholme. To make a long story short, I traced my way back to the main gates and then back again several times, taking different routes each time. On my second trip to the eastern gates, I bought and ate some food on the way, though I didn't forget to get the guards some snacks so they wouldn't become suspicious of the back and forth trips I was making. While I could have made a map, that would be difficult to take out and use while being pursued so it would be pointless, not to mention suspicious, endeavor. It was best to internalize the paths such that if I needed to make a detour, I could do so easily without wasting time. I was in the midst of another route when I came upon a curious scene.

Oddly enough, I saw was a gaggle of women—mainly young ones though there were a few older ones in there as well—holding buckets of water, pitchers of refreshments, and towels. They were standing in front of what could only be considered a lumber mill, though it was far more of an open building than the kind of lumber mills that I would associate with 20th century Earth. Instead, it was more like an open porch with a roof with the other half of the building actually being closed rooms. Once I got close enough to look past the crowd, it wasn't hard to see why they were gathered here.

Standing in front of the lumber mill, not under any roofing and in the direct shine of the sunlight, were three individuals that really shouldn't be here. Arthas, Falric, and Marwyn were swinging axes to chop blocks of wood in half on tree stumps. There was a sizable pile near each of them so they had to have been here for awhile, but most importantly, they weren't wearing shirts or any upper clothing. The sweat gleamed off their skin and musculature, as if they were male models posing for magazine photos with spray-on water.

It took me a moment to reconcile the sight before me and to decipher its purpose, but when I did, it was an eye-opening moment. It was a publicity stunt, in order to churn up a favorable public image. It was questionable why a royal prince would need it, though I suppose it was for the benefit of Falric and Marwyn. What made me more curious was why they weren't wearing any shirts, especially with the risk that flying wood fragments could bite into their exposed skin, but I supposed that was part of the public relation stunt, seeing by how many of the women were carrying drinks and towels. Famous individuals have always attracted a somewhat rabid fan-base, as evident from the fans of a certain forty-eight girls singing group. With that mystery solved, I was about to turn away to continue my route planning when I noticed the women around me were looking my way.

It took me a moment to realize that Falric was waving at me, and it took another to notice that the rest of the lumberjack trio had stopped chopping as well.

I waved back. It was just a plain one-two wave, unenthusiastic in its implementation, that should have signified a casual greeting where both parties would then move along on their own way. However, he waved for me to come over. It wasn't like I could refuse a superior officer so, under intense gazes of the crowd of women, I walked over to the three. Marwyn greeted me with a curt nod which I returned while Falric was more enthusiastic with his words. As for Arthas…

"Like what you see?" There was a cocky smile on his face.

"Yes."

Arthas blinked. It took him a moment before he reacted, coughing into his hand as he turned his head away while Falric burst into laughter.

I wasn't quite sure what was so funny about that. After all, a future ruler who could recognize the needs and hardships of the working class was very rare. Most would prefer to say stuck in their palace, ruling from afar. However, the prince was actually doing menial work like lumbering so it could only be considered praiseworthy, and it was a very good move from a public relations standpoint. It provided those who see the event or hear about the event a feeling as if the prince was on a similar level as them and thus could understand their trials and tribulations. The flaw was that by humanizing him, it lowered him from a pedestal and thus exposed him to the dangers associated with regular people. Not much of a flaw when you considered the fact that he was a warrior prince so he could defend himself if it came to that. In any case, the brand image of a prince who was not afraid of hard work would benefit him in the long run so it had my seal of approval. If he ever sponsored a product, I could imagine that it would sell out within hours even if it were a faulty or defective product.

"I…I see—ahem." Arthas slowly removed his hand from his mouth. "When did you awaken?"

"Two hours ago, my liege," I replied. "I've been surveying the town's defenses."

"Did you find anything noteworthy?"

"Well… The fourth battle line is…woefully indefensible. In the event of a retreat from the main gates, the casualty rate will be high."

"It won't come to that point," Arthas said. "Last night's battle proved that."

"That was when they didn't have spell casters. Their addition will—"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were trying to be in charge of the defenses." He gave me a wry smile and said, "Leave that to me, won't you?"

I flushed. That was a rebuke if I had ever heard any. He was right; I had stepped beyond the limits of my authority, and while I wasn't the most knowledgeable about medieval warfare in comparison to modern warfare, I also felt stymied. However, I didn't have any visible credentials or experience that would give me a position to stand from. All they knew was that I was a priestess from Strahnbrad who had been thrown into war. Would anyone trust that kind of person with war planning?

"M…my apologies, my liege." I stammered out an apology, but Arthas immediately waved it away.

"I understand you're trying to help, but I've more experience than you in regards to this. It'd be better for you to instead rest up in preparation for the coming battle." Arthas turned to his right-hand man. "Falric, see to it that Tanya is escorted. Marwyn is a sufficient enough guard for me."

I bowed my head while Falric wiped himself off with a towel and began putting his shirt back on. The thing that I had forgotten was that Arthas was royalty, through and through. His nature to be on the frontlines and his nonchalance about lowering himself to what was essentially a working class jobs like logging made me lose sight of that fact. He was bold, confident, and idealistic—a deadly combination. If I couldn't get through to him directly, then at least I needed to try indirectly through people who he trusted more. Once Falric was done dressing, we walked away under the glaring gaze of the crowd—or rather, I brought him along the route to the eastern gates.

"Where are we heading to?"

"The eastern gates," I replied.

"You think the undead will attack there?"

"No, I think that if the main gates to the south falls, then the eastern gates will be the only way to escape Hearthglen." I could see Falric's questioning look, but I had to implant the idea into him.

"I'll talk about it once we reach there."

The key to pitching an idea was not to suddenly bombard someone with it; they wouldn't react well to that. No, you had to slowly build up to the idea. That meant that I had to give it gradually to allow him to ruminate over it and become more open to any ideas concerning it. That was how political corruption worked after all, wasn't it? As we made our way on this new route, people came up to me as was usual, and I dealt with them in the same way as before. By the time we reached the eastern gate, I saw a pensive look on Falric's face.

"Tanya," he began. "You've been hard at work."

I simply nodded. Ever since I woke up, I had been creating and memorizing routes. I would have liked to have more time, but it was just as necessary to have a good amount of rest since it was probably going to be a long night.

"So now that we're here, what did you want to say?"

"You know that the prince is…courageous." I scanned the area around me just to make sure we had some distance to ourselves. There were not that many people in this area, and the guards stayed in their position, only opting to give us sneaky glances as if, by doing so, they could derive what we were talking about by staring hard enough.

"The line of Menethil has always been strong."

"Be that as it may, I think he may be underestimating the threat posed by the undead," I said. "In the case that they get through the gates, the plan is to fall back to Mardenholde Keep, right?"

"Yes."  
"The problem is that if he goes there, then he will be trapped. There will be no way out for him." Or for me. "If the main gates cannot hold, I'm not sure how long the keep could last against a siege."

"Now I understand why you took me here," Falric said as his gaze drifted over to the gates. "But the prince will never abandon his people. Besides, even if we do fall back to Mardenholde, we just have to hold on long enough for Lord Uther to arrive."

"I know, but if Lord Uther is late…" I paused for a moment to make it seem like it was hard for me to say. "Then it could become a crippling loss for all of Lordaeron."

"Are you saying…" Falric leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I'll not go against Prince Arthas."

"What are you talking about? I'm not asking you to do that at all," I replied with a carefully measured incredulous tone. "I'm just telling you my thoughts."

Falric didn't reply as he looked at the gates once again, though this time, his gaze was sharper than before. I could tell that he was swaying so I just needed a little more push.

"I'm worried about him," I said. "You've seen how reckless he is. Fighting at the front lines until exhaustion or death takes him."

"As opposed to not fighting at all? He is a paladin and a prince, Tanya," Falric said. "We must trust in the prince's strength to stand true, and the Light will reward us for our faith."

"O-of course. The Light will give us strength…"

It took all my effort not to grind my teeth. I was never the best at empathy so it was difficult for me to derive if he was hiding his intentions or if he was being upfront. Unfortunately, I didn't think that I could do better with Marwyn so this was the best that I could do. Maybe I could have made an escape plan for myself, but as a cleric, the prospect of any escape succeeding while alone after the battle started would be insurmountably small. I would hate it if I had to rely on something as flimsy as luck, as if I was a gambling addict rolling a couple of weighted dies instead of a stock market trader with insider information. If I had to put so much emphasis on fate and luck, then I would be like one of those religious fanatics that say that everything good in the world was the grace of god and every bad thing was a trial to overcome.

In the end, any sensible human being would have to admit defeat and withdraw funding to a failed project, before redistributing that funding to a project that could circumvent that failure. Instead of focusing more resources on escape routes, I needed to redirect them to something that was within my power to influence.

~o~

…and that was, of course, self-improvement. Considering that I had no power or status of any sort, with my only claim to fame being Arthas's hanger-on, it would laughable for me to think that I could influence anything except myself. Even the talks that I had with the dwarves were more advice and suggestions than anything else, leaning more on suggestion. The fact that they took it up was a welcomed surprise that I had no real expectations of. Perhaps it was my perceived influence from my proximity to Arthas's royal aura. Either way, I couldn't rely on it. That meant that I essentially had no one to rely on.

Sitting at a desk in my assigned quarters with the window left open to let in the sunlight, I cracked open my tome. The thick hardcover plopped to the side as I flipped through the pages. Thankfully, these pages were of the more modern style rather than parchment made of animal skin. They had also been treated with magic to keep the book pristine even from the dirtiest of conditions. Books like these were not that unique in this world; almost all spell casters carried some kind of tome around on their person, and they brought them even into battle. That was because what was magically inked on these pages were the techniques and spells of their trade.

Studying had always been a good way of self-improvement, but why was I doing so before a battle? What could I possibly learn in this short of a span? Well, nothing really since all of this was review.

The school in Stratholme had mainly generalized courses with some specialty electives, designed to teach as much of the general knowledge as comprehensively as possible. Studying and practicing every spell in the cleric's repetitive was a necessity for good grades, but in the end, there were only a few spells that would actually be useful in the jobs I was aiming for. What was the use of Power Word: Barrier, a spell that invoked a large scale barrier that reduced harm, or Power Word: Solace, a sacred word designed to harm, when I was simply going to be a healer in a safe environment?

It would be better to specialize in Heal, Purify Disease, and Renew since those were the type of spells that a doctor in a hospital would need. Of course, things didn't work out that way, which was why I now had to review and refresh my memory on spells that I had only really done for practicals and exams under the supervision of a superior cleric. Now, I had to be able to do the same in battlefield conditions under pressure.

The problem with using spells without sufficient practice was similar to using a rifle without practicing. While on the basic level, it would be fine—point and cast. However, there were far too many factors that could complicate that. Choosing the correct target area, measuring the exact area of effect by solely my eyes and instinct, calculating how much mana it requires, concentrating enough to reduce chances of the spell delaying, making sure to get the timing correct since it has a limited duration, accounting for cooldown, and placing it in the correct order for the combat rotation. These was only the factors regarding the spell itself. There were plenty more if I took into consideration the situation and surroundings. To maximize efficiency in a chaotic situation was a task of paramount difficulty, which was the reason why good battlefield priests usually gain promotion and prestige faster. Of course, it required quite a number of battles, and I have had enough of that to last me two lifetimes.

The priests and priestesses that I had seen yesterday were certainly not of that vein. They reacted rather than anticipated so they were constantly playing the catch-up game. After someone was wounded, they would first confirm it by sight and then cast a Heal or Quick Heal. In that sense, their view was limited to only their allies and didn't take into consideration the actions of their enemies. That made preemptive spells like Power Word: Shield wasteful in their hands. Well, not totally a waste, but certainly not as economical as an attentive healer.

The paladins that I worked with before had been far more effective healers, but that was because they were trained for the battlefield. The priests were primarily from the towns and garrisons of Brill and Hearthglen so their education and experience were geared toward more calmer locale. That thus made it much easier for me to shine over the rest. That was ideal when in a winning situation like last night, but for a losing situation, it would instead be detrimental to my survivability.

"Sol…lace. So—lace. Solace." Pronunciation was important when dealing with magic, especially since there wasn't anything convenient like a computational orb. Well, it was supposedly more the intent rather than the word itself, but people thought in words rather than in concepts. Language was a mark of civilization; only cavemen thought simply in concepts and images. Though, the acolytes who I studied with all talked about how you need faith or the desire to work for the greater good, but I never needed that to get my spells working. Using holy spells had always come easily enough to me. Perhaps, it was my faith in my own abilities and potential? Well, either way, I never had a problem with it.

And just like that, the hours slipped by as I reviewed the study material. It was only when Falric came to retrieve me that I finally stopped and began to prepare my equipment.

~o~

There had been no warning from the scouts about any incoming undead army, but the lack of their return was warning enough.

The sun was setting at this point, dipping beyond the horizon and encapsulating the world in its twilight glow. As I stood on the open plain, there was only the somber echoes of metal clinking against one another, bouncing back and forth as lines of armored footmen and spear-wielding militia marched out of the opened gates. Distant and somber, it was a scene that looked as if it came right out of a movie. Their armors were clean and unscratched, but that was because those were actually new; there wasn't enough time to repair the ones from yesterday and there had been plenty of extra in storage so everyone simply got new equipment. Yet, judging from their faces, it seemed like they knew what was coming. None of that merriment from earlier remained, and if it did, it was more of a facade to loosen the tension than anything else.

Over by the gates, I saw civilian volunteers moving supplies such as bolts, arrows, bandages, and coal up the stairways leading to the top. High above, on top of the walls, I could see the dwarves setting up their positions. Behind those battlement, there was undoubtedly stockpiles of mortar shells, the primary ammunition that they had been making in their forges throughout the entire day. Near them, the mages and archers were standing by while the engineer teams were checking and rechecking the ballistas, making sure that they would be ready for the coming battle. I couldn't see their expressions from here, but the way they moved showed that they felt the tension too, despite those ranged squads having suffered absolutely zero casualties in the last battle.

As a soldier, I felt it in the air. There was a difference, a silence if you will which made the old saying that the calm came before the storm seem apt enough to describe the atmosphere and the tension in the air. While there had been much revelry and hope before this point, coming face-to-face with the fact that, this time, we wouldn't simply be facing just a mindless bunch of walking corpses was enough to raise the pressure. This time, we were going against undead commanded by an actual sentient being, even if that was a lich. On that note, I could see some changes too. The formation that the soldiers and militia were forming was tighter and closer to the gates. It was reasonable to get closer since, in this battle, we actually had a bit less priests since a couple had been moved to the top of the wall in preparation.

Looking to Arthas, I saw that his jaw was set, and his expression was determined. By his side, Falric and Marwyn had matching expressions, and in a way, we all knew that this battle would be different. A signal from Arthas, a wave of his hand, sent several horsemen trotting across the plains. Under the fading twilight, they began lighting the torch holders that had been set every ten yards, creating a fiery illumination that fought against the encroaching darkness. They had to move in such a way to avoid the piles of rotting corpses and eschewed barricades, remnants of the last battle since only the main battle area had been cleared. They lit the torches all the way until the edge of the forest and downhill path. Once done, all of the riders returned briskly as the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon.

Campfires were set as the soldiers began sitting down and settling in for the long wait. Conversations were springing up as the tension loosened, but when I looked up at the battlements at the top of the wall, I could see the shadows of people still moving about against the soft orange glow of their torches. Unlike during the day, the wind had died down, such that the banners that draped the battlement no longer fluttered and stayed still.

Even as Falric and Marwyn moved away to attend to their men, I stayed by Arthas's side. We were the only two around our campfire, and we had actually been given logs to sit on. However, there was no conversation between us, just a deep silence. It took awhile before I decided to break it.

"My liege…"

Arthas didn't respond, merely staring into the flames. I licked my dry lips and aimed to try again, but he spoke before I could.

"Call me Arthas." He finally looked up from the flames. "If that makes you uncomfortable, then Prince Arthas or simply Prince will do. You've at least earned that much."

"…yes, Prince Arthas."

"Good," he said. "Now, continue."

"Forgive me for speaking freely, but I…I think we should retreat to the second battle line."

"Oh?" There an amused smile on his face. "Elaborate."

"We don't know anything about the necromancers, the liches, or any forces they have in reserve, but they know about ours," I said. "They have more information than us. If their commander isn't incompetent, then they'll have the advantage."

"I understand your concerns, but you must have faith, Tanya. If not in the means, then in the Light." Arthas gave a rueful smirk as he poked at the fire with a stick.

"So long as we maintain the line, we'll be able to hold them off them off indefinitely. My presence here ensures it."

I turned silent at that. This wasn't the kind of plan that I could be confident in, especially with his boosting, but this battle was an entirely different form of warfare that modern day tactics were simply not suited for. Yesterday was a good example since if we had simply started at the second battle line, we would have wasted far more ammunition—bolts, arrows, bullets, and mortar shells—for practically the same or even inferior results. Modern tactics were based on the fact that the opponent was of a similar nature, where fear and the lethality of bullets ensured that strategy followed a certain mindset that wouldn't allow for something as idiotic as a reckless charge. However, undead attackers could not be stopped with just one or two bullets, requiring a significant amount to completely render a corpse inoperable. Without that lethality, there was less reasons for fear, even if they weren't emotionless undead.

When you increase the time required to kill, then skill becomes more of a factor.

My experiences with those kind of tactics that necessitate the skills of each flight mage had always been against Named flight mages. Not that I could use many of those tactics anymore, especially since a lot of them had been predicated on the technological superiority of the Empire's computational orbs. That advantage had tilted the battlefield in my favor almost beyond the point of recovery. The skies had been my domain, but even rulers could be taken down with enough forces, something I knew very well from experience.

"Tanya." Arthas's voice shook me out of my thoughts. Looking up, I saw him staring at me. "We will prevail."

Had I shown too much on my face? I straightened up and locked eyes with him, my face set and determined. It was an expression that I had worn many times in my past life, when addressing a superior officer.

"Yes, Prince Arthas!" I sharply saluted. It was the moment afterward that I realized that my loudness had reached too far as I heard chuckles coming from further down the line. However, it wasn't a bad thing since it helped cut through the tension, allowing the soldiers a small reprieve from the bleak atmosphere. As the silence came once again between us, which fortunately was not too quiet this time, I settled in for the long wait.

Of course, things didn't last that way.

As the first hour of the night truly began, I noticed that there was something wrong. There was no sound of the night. No owls hooting, no cricket chirping, and there wasn't even the rustling of leaves. I looked up at Arthas who was focused forward, his eyes staring at the lit edges of the forest.

When the second hour began, I was the least surprised when the outermost candles were snuffed out. I was almost finish eating my roasted pork on a stick, since ominous signs was not a good reason to starve on the battlefield. As I bit into the delectable juicy tenderness of the grill meat, I watched as Arthas stood up. He had decided not to eat, like many of the soldiers, but if I had been his superior officer, I would have scolded him for not using his time frugally. Since he was actually my superior officer, I simply bit into my delicious late-night meal while I watched him prepare himself.

Arthas raised his warhammer and pointed it at the tree line. "Flare!"

His loud voice echoed, and from the top of the wall, one of the mortar teams answered it. A mortar shell was fired high into the air toward the other side of the battlefield. When it reached the apex of its curve, the shell exploded, creating a sparking flash of light that slowly drifted downward, in front of the forest. Standing there, in between the trees, was a veritable tide of undead, packed tightly into crowds that seemed to stretch as far as the light did. The rotting, mutated bodies of countless ghouls of varying sizes and shapes glared with malevolent expressions, their jaws hanging loosely, displaying their dagger-like teeth. Standing alongside them in intervals were abominations, zombies, and skeletons. As the flare continued to fall, they began to move.

Many of the footmen unsheathed their swords in a panic, filling the air with the sound of sliding metal. Even I couldn't do nothing. Discarding the stick and the remainder of the pork into the fire with reluctance, I picked up my staff and stood up. Still, it was a bit hard to get into the mood since the grilled pork certainly didn't have the grimness of war marinated into them like Imperial battlefield rations. I had to admit to being in awe of the dedication of Lieutenant General Zettour and Lieutenant General Rudersdorf for maintaining war readiness through their everyday meals. Truly, they were exemplary officers of the Empire.

The moment that the flare finally touched the ground and fizzled out, the tree line was enshrouded in darkness once again, but another flare wasn't necessary anymore; the pale glow of the slightly less than full moon was plenty enough to illuminate the swarm of decaying beasts sprinting out onto the plain. Running on all four, they raced across the plain like hunting dogs. To meet their charge, an onslaught from the top of the wall began as arrows and magic blasts poured down in a flood.

"Hold fast!" The shouts of captains echoed across the battlefield as the footmen brought up their dense kite shields.

The first line of ghouls leaped at the footmen, grasping the shields as they tried to claw past. The militia spearmen stabbed and pinned those to the ground with techniques honed from last night, but even before the ghouls hit the floor, another replaced them, preventing the footmen from finishing off the first. I could hear the pounding of the mortar shells and the loud twang of the ballistas, but I didn't have much time to pay attention to them as I weaved my spells. If yesterday had been a moderate pace, this could be considered a frantic one. My healing spells lit off one after the other, but even this early, I could tell that the impact was pushing back our battle line.

Hearing a loud scream from above, I looked up to see an archer falling off the wall. She smashed heavily into the ground, breaking her neck, but I could see the culprit of her demise was an arrow in her upper chest. Looking past the endless tide of ghouls and the approaching swarm of zombies and abominations, I could see groups of skeleton archers, each managed by a necromancer who sent coils of purple magic streaking across the sky. They were responded to with arrows and elemental spells. We had the advantage, but it did tie up the fire support, leaving the ones battling in the melee in a more precarious situation.

"Barrier!" The sacred word of power left my mouth, each syllable breaking apart and scattering the mana within. The world in front of me bent and warped as a golden distortion was forced upon reality itself. A dome of light flashed into existence. The momentum of the swords and arrows from enemies slowed down, reducing the force behind each attack. Obviously, this was a boon to human fighters within, allowing them to retaliate and become aggressive. One could marvel at how a dome of mystical light could actually differentiate between ally and enemy, but everything was based on the cleric's intention. Whereas for mages—from what I knew about them—they had to honed their precision since the parameters of their spells were more fixed.

For the sacred word to induce its effect upon the world, I had to pack and condense in a significant amount of mana, most of which was wasted in the process. To put it into perspective, I could have thrown out nearly four Heals for the same amount of mana to force a barrier into the world. It was like filling in a pre-made groove, a scar on the world that was left being by some powerful being or force.

While a few others copied my example, releasing barriers upon their own section, most of them didn't bother to try, mostly sticking to Heals and the easier to use, Power Word: Shield. I had little time to think about it when I heard something splatter against the wall, high above me. I looked up just as body parts fell down, luckily far enough from me that I didn't get touched by the pieces and droplets. Over the din of noise, I could hear the sound of something heavy launching. It took a moment before I recognized that it was actually a cadaver launched through the air, flying in an arc high above toward the wall before splattering—

No, exploding. The moment the corpse touched the stone wall, it exploded out in a burst of death magic. I could see the wall visibly corroding, as if it was melting away right before my eyes. Some of the body parts and splatters of blood rained down on one of the back line priestess, causing her to scream in agony as her clothes and flesh began to melt and bubble. While some of the priests reacted in horror, I moved in quickly and casted a Purify on her. It stopped the damage, enough for me to get started on a Heal spell.

"Ballista teams!" Arthas shouted as he swung his warhammer, shattering a ghoul's skull. He kicked forward, sending another of the ghouls to the floor. "Suppress their siege engines at all cost!"

His shout was echoed by others, until I could see the bolts from the ballistas on the walls changing targets from the approaching abominations to the catapults. Even from here, I could see the strange wheeled vehicle that sported a catapult on its top while having a spiked roller and sword-like rims in the front. It was a mixture of wood and metal, but it seemed more like a rickety contraption that had only been recently made and shoddily at that. In fact, was this what they were using the trees for?

I had to hold in the nausea I felt at its absolutely inefficient design. If there was one reason not to join the Scourge, it was this lack of common sense that seemed to pervade every facet of this obviously communist regime. The whole vehicle was a mishmash of ideas, as if you had a bunch of children list out their favorite things and made them draw a picture containing all of them. At first, it seemed like a troop transport vehicle with those bladed rims and roller, but then why were those two necromancers exposed, sitting just above the back wheels? In fact, why was there a catapult right next to the pile of corpses it carried as ammunition? It would have been far more better to specialize the vehicle by separating it into three separate vehicles.

Of course, it was satisfying watching a bolt ram into the wooden wheel of the vehicle, breaking it apart as the entire catapult tilted and then toppled over to the side. With the height of the wall, there was no chance for the catapults to retaliate accurately enough, leaving the ballistas relatively safe as they took potshots at the catapults. However, the sheer number of catapults was slowly laying waste to the wall itself, leaving behind large craters.

I maintained the barrier as the first of the abominations slammed in the battle line. With a meaty swing of its arm, a footman was sent heavily to the floor. He grabbed at his sword, even as the mass of decayed flesh raised its cleaver and swung down.

"Shield!" The rusted edge of the cleaver smashed into the golden shield that sprung up around the footman, sparks flying as the weapon was pushed back by the impact.

"Solace!" As the word warped into an orb of holy light, I quickly contained it with my hands and threw it forward. The orb ripped through the air, leaving a trailing afterimage, before it flew into the abomination's stomach cavity. The entire hole in its stomach erupted with an explosion of golden light. Tendrils of smoke rose out of every orifice as the monster burned from the inside out, madly moving and swinging around as if that would alleviate its pain. Even after the light faded and it fell to the ground, its pained screams a disturbing mixture of giggling and moaning, it continued to squirm as its flesh and stitches burned away, opening up its body like a morbid gift box.

A quick Renew eased the rawness of my throat from the repeated use of power words. Spitting out the remnants, only the phantom pain remained as I quickly popped off the cork on a potion flask and drank it down. Maybe it was my mental state, but I didn't bothered to store the empty glass container and just threw it over into the crowd of undead where it broke ineffectually on a zombie's head. By this time, the battlefield was turning against us since the ferocity of this attack completely dwarfed the one we faced yesterday.

I could see footmen being ripped apart by swarm of zombies and ghouls faster than the priests could get to them. Abominations were creating warpaths, and the skeleton archers had switched their focus to the militia spearmen, pinning them down with arrows. From behind, more and more of the reserve forces came, dragging the wounded and fatigued out of combat while replacing the gaps with fresh footmen and militiamen. Even then, with the fire support from above destroying large swathes of the undead and keeping the living necromancers away, it wasn't enough to stem what seemed like an endless tide.

"Steady retreat!" Arthas's command was echoed down the line by his captains. As the battle raged, we took step after step back, approaching the gate. As we made our way to the gateway, less and less soldiers needed to be at the front to hold the chokepoint. Still, the prince remained the focal point of it all at the center of the frontline as we continued to move backwards while fighting. In a way, it was more dangerous to fight as we move since there was a very real possibility of being dragged down and left behind. Our line tightened as we came into the entry point of the gateway, even as casualties mounted.

We moved further backwards into the gateway, using the confines as a chokepoint. With a stone wall to our left and right, we only had to worry about the front so the intensity was less strenuous, but with the rising fatigue, we were still faltering from the intense fighting. Thankfully, our allies were ready for us once we moved back past a certain point.

Many of the reserve humans and dwarves moved quickly, pushing at and closing the massive double doors. As the doors shoved away the undead with its wooden construction, the footmen chopped apart those that slipped in through the opening. As the double doors neared closing, an abomination tried to move in between. It reached out its cleaver even doors slammed shut, squashing the mass of fatty flesh into a splatter of organs and blood. A chain was cut, sending a giant wooden bar swinging down onto metal hooks behind the middle of double doors, locking the gate in place.

"Back away, lads! We're bringing the portcullis down!"

The gridded iron gates—the portcullis—fell down from the ceiling, its triangle bottom edges inserting into slots in the ground. A group of human and dwarves rushed forward and and fitting loops around the bottom grids of the bars. They began hammering in nails to make sure that the portcullis couldn't be lifted, such that it had to be broken straight through in order to get passed. Once they were done, a second portcullis fell down in which they repeated the same process, followed by a third.

During this time, everyone was taking a breather and attending to wounds. Civilian volunteers were bringing out bandages, potions, food, and drink. However, Arthas soon stood up.

"Marwyn, ensure the gateway remains sealed. Falric, Tanya, with me to the walls." Arthas brought his sight around, taking in the injured and fatigued soldiers. "As for the rest of you, rest for now. Know that they seek to destroy our hearts, but we have those we must protect. Those able, reform at the second battle line on top of the wall, and by the strength and guidance of the Light, we shall prevail this day. Stand firm with me and with the Alliance!"

"For Lordaeron!"

"For the Alliance!

"For the Prince!"

Somehow, he made another foray into danger sound impressive. As for me, I wasn't too enthused about it, but I had been called out by name so it wasn't like I could avoid it. Dragging my tired body up, I took an offered glass of water from a volunteer and made my way to follow him. Some of the soldiers got up from their place to join us, which included some injured ones. I gave them a quick cast of Renew since it wasn't a strenuous spell for me. Arthas didn't really seem to pay attention, not even when Falric shadowed him, as he climbed up the stairs, two steps at a time. Seeing as I was of a less…muscular build, I took each step of the stairs one at a time. Indeed, while I respected promptness, the amount of time gained from taking two steps at a time was rather negligible. It was like waiting for the crosswalk sign to turn green versus jaywalking; to me, the value of saving a few seconds was not worth risking my safety for. Even while I walked up the stairs, there were volunteers quickly moving down the stairs to retrieve more supplies and ammunitions.

Once I reached the top, I saw that Arthas had already moved over to the edge and was looking down with a grim expression. Falric was already directing some of the footmen and militia who came with us to different portions of the wall. As for me, I walked up to where Arthas was and looked out. There was an endless tide of undead, making it seem like the kind of crowd that one would see at a political speech rally, except that these attendees were more of the more ravenous, clawing and pounding kind, which they constantly demonstrated on the wall and gate below. The abominations were clustered around the giant double door, repeatedly chopping into the wood and metal with their cleavers. Despite many of the enemy's siege weapons being taken out by bolts, there were still a significant amount that were still active, tossing corpses through the air and into the wall and double doors. Even now, arrows and spells were continuously being shot through the air, like an endless session of gifting and receiving. Whether they actually hit their intended target was up for debate though.

"Prince Arthas, you're too close. You're going to get—ah!" An arrow pierced into my left shoulder with the surprise and momentum sending me to the floor. I grabbed at the shaft with my other hand as the pain seized at me.

"Tanya!"

Even as Arthas rushed over to my side, I yanked the arrow out, the intense wave of blinding pain covering my sight for a moment. He knelt down and placed his golden glowing hand on my shoulder, letting the energy flow into my wound and seal it up. Grabbing my other arm, he helped me up to my feet even though I was still a little unsteady. I could see anger on his face, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by several alarmed shouts.

We looked over the edge, though this time, I made sure to keep myself mostly behind cover. I had already learned my lesson from trying to emulate Arthas. A path was being made in the sea of undead as skeleton warriors were running through it. The problem was that they were carrying crudely-made ladders.

"Mages and mortars, stop those ladders! Archers, continue to stem the tide!" Arthas immediately took command, giving out orders.

Clever bastards.

I have to admit that I underestimated them. Sending in skeletons which had a low amount of surface area to hit made arrows all but useless, but the threat of the ladders ensured that we had to respond to it by any means possible. In addition, their skeleton archers and necromancers hadn't been idle, moving closer as they continued to lay down suppressing fire on us. I could see spiraling purple coils and arrows fly over my head or hitting the stone battlements.

"We need more defenders!" Arthas knocked aside an arrow with the forearm portion of his gauntlet. "Tanya, go and get the reserves!"

I nodded my head and headed on the path, parallel to the battlements. However, finding that the stairway down to the ground floor was jammed with reinforcements and supplies moving up and down, I decided to take a shortcut. Invoking the spell Levitate, I could feel my feet lifting a little off the ground. With that, I took a leap straight off the top. My glide down was actually slower than I thought, making me question whether it was faster than simply taking the stairs. Still, I eventually made it. The moment that I touch down to the ground, I headed for the central command tower which was a lone tower that sat in the middle of the third battle line, overlooking the gates. As it was the rearmost point of the three battle lines, not connected to the wall, and the last fortification before the town itself, it was where the reserves were situated and where the wounded were taken.

I had the impression that he was sending me away for my safety, and I was completely fine with that. In fact, I would encourage and praise such a decision. As I got closer, I saw there were archers and mortar teams who were shooting at the top levels of the tower, their projectiles flying over the gates, but it felt like they were simply shooting blindly. While it was the tallest defensive tower, it was still a fair distance from the gates. Then again, the undead were massing beyond the gates so it wasn't like they could miss.

The moment I stepped through the doorway, I found many bloodied defenders lying on mats, making do with bandages as the exhausted priest made his round. I could see that his work was taking a large toll on him, but he stubbornly drank down a mana potion and continued on to the next patient. This actually worried me since there should be more. Why was there only a single cleric attending to this many? Were the rest all on the wall or guarding the gates? Moving in, I began to assist with the healing duties.

"The Prince sent you?" The priest asked in surprise, though I could see a bit of hope and relief in his eyes.

"He did. Here, let me relieve you a bit."

"You've my gratitude, Lady Tanya," he said. "In times of trials such as these, we must all band together."

"You won't be thanking me for long. We need these soldiers back at the battlements. The undead are making for the walls," I said, turning my gaze to the ones who were now just resting, having been recently healed.

"This is Prince Arthas's orders. Every able soldier is to return to their post immediately!"

I could see dread in some of their eyes, but the soldiers obeyed nonetheless. Pushing themselves off the floor or wall, they trudged outside to rejoin the battle effort. Nobody wanted to fight, and these soldiers weren't trained for it. They were the culmination of two towns' garrison and volunteers; anyone could see that they weren't prepared for the horrors of war. In a rational world, war would be conducted in trade rather than in bullets.

This was hardly a rational world.

As I went from patient to patient, it became somewhat of a routine. Honestly, this was a relaxing job and had it not been on the battlefield, I would even say that it was rather ideal. Indeed, if I ignored the fact that the siege was still going on, I could even pretend that it was rather calm. However, I knew that some of the ladders would have already gotten through by, and the first undead up those ladders were probably fighting the defenders. The only positive was that it was impossible for abominations to climb those crude ladders without shattering them outright.

More and more wounded soldiers were being brought in, forcing me to increase my pace.

That was when I felt the ground beneath me shake heavily, as if there was an earthquake. It wasn't long before I saw a townswoman run into the tower wide-eyed, panicked, and out of breath.

"The..The gates…breached, mi…milady!"

Fear coiled around in my stomach.

"Where's the prince?!"

"The prince ordered a retreat back to the keep! When I left, Captain Marwyn was having riflemen shoot through the gaps in the portcullis, but the first portcullis has already been ripped open." She grabbed onto my sleeves, her eyes frantic and tearing. "The wall is being abandoned. We must get everyone to the—"

Her voice choked off as the tip of an ice shard burst through her front.

"That won't be necessary." Standing—no, levitating within the the open doorway was a skeletal lich, his black and purple robes flowing around his body on an ethereal current. His burning eyes took in the room at a glance and his fleshless hand raise, quickly gathering magic in between his fingers. "Do me a good deed and die. We need more soldiers for the Scourge."

"Shield!" A golden light appeared around me, just before a wave of frost swept through the room, freezing the wounded soldiers and the priest into solid ice. It rushed over me, but my shield held, even if just barely as the golden light was now faint.

"Hm? Ah yes, you're the outspoken girl." His words were almost leisurely said as he floated over to me, the door shutting on its own behind him. I could hear the sound of fighting and urgent shouting beyond the door, letting me know how far the undead had flooded into the town, but my attention was fully focused on the lich. Muttering under my breath, I prepared a Smite.

"Don't bother healing them. They won't be able to help you."

I swiped my hand, launching the Smite spell at him. It was more to buy time than to hurt him, but he ignored the slash of holy magic across his face—smoke rising from his cheekbone—as he speared his knifehand forward. My golden shield finally shattered and faded away, even as he spread his fingers and grabbed me by the neck. Raising me off the ground and choking me, I could feel tendrils spreading across my skin, slowly turning it colder.

"A magus of any skill will always be better than a lowly cleric." His fingers tightened around my throat. His breath was foul and rotting, but it was also chilly enough that I could see wisps coming from it. I wasn't sure how that was possible since he didn't have lungs. "I should make your death long and slow, but I'll offer you a chance. A quick death and a place in my army, as long as you tell me why they're so interested in your prince."

A snapping sound brought my gaze down to the ground, and I realized he had stepped onto my staff and broke it. I hadn't even realized I dropped it. Considering that he levitated into the room, he could only have done that on purpose. The enchanted wood that made up the staff instantly rotted from the lich's touch. Even my clothes were starting to waste away, exposing my flesh to the rot as my robe's numerous enchantments were being overwhelmed by the lich's power. Perhaps it was because I was imbued with holy energy that my flesh didn't suffer the same fate as my staff or clothes. Of course, when you are lacking air, all of those were secondary concerns. I repeatedly patted the skeletal hand that was choking me.

"Ah yes. I forgot you mortals need to breathe to talk." His grip around my throat loosened, and I took the opportunity.

"Solace!" The sacred word escaped my mouth as I raised my hands and shoved the appearing golden orb into his face. It exploded in a massive flash of light. The lich howled as he dropped me and stepped back, covering his bony face with his hands.

I coughed, feeling the burning rawness inside my throat and the cold touch outside. However, I didn't have time for that. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up, moving to my feet. Mana flowed through me as I gathered it up.

The lich moved one hand, such to allow one of his burning eyes to see me. His skull face was half melted, yet his malevolent gaze and fury was focused solely on me. Too bad for him, it was already too late.

"Halo!" The word was more for me to focus than anything else as a ring of golden light expanded out from me, spreading like a nova through the entire room and beyond. The lich floated back, burning from the touch of the holy energy. However, that wasn't my sole purpose. As the wave of holy magic moved across each individual in the room, it shattered the unnatural ice and replenished their vitality.

"You…!" Whatever the lich was about to say was cut off as the orbs of my Penance spell smashed into his exposed face, breaking his concentration. The soldiers who had been lying down were already on their feet, charging with their swords and spears drawn. A golden glow erupted from the other priest, manifesting golden chains out of thin air that wrapped around the lich and held him in place. The multitudes of blade, solely by their sheer numbers alone, pierced into his enchanted robes. For a moment, his half-destroyed face stared balefully at mine before his entire body collapsed, his skeleton body falling apart into a pile of bones.

"Thank you, Lady Tanya," the priest said, breathing hard. "But what do we do now?"

"We follow the prince's order. Fall back to the keep!"

I ran past them and out the door first, even as I heard the soldiers rushing to keep up with me. The fighting was still fierce, with even the archers relying on their sword sidearm to fight against the flood. In the town outside the tower, there was chaos as the living fought against the dead in clusters in every direction I could see. At the forefront, I found Arthas, swinging his warhammer with abandon, being a berserker in all but name. With each swing of his hammer, the flesh and bones of his enemies shattered or broke apart. However, what caught my attention was that beneath his feet was a familiar black and purple robe with a pile of bones scattered in and around it. He didn't seem to care about it as he unconsciously kicked it around as he moved.

Somehow, it felt like my own achievement was being cheapened.

Arthas raised his hammer, as if beseeching a higher power.

"Light, give me strength."

It was odd to hear the usual confident and brash prince sound so humble and subservient, but I couldn't let that distract me.

"Prince Arthas!" I rushed over in his direction. Even as he swung his warhammer, he glanced over to me. "We need to pull back!"

"Tanya?"

Looking around, Arthas's jaw became grimly set. Without any more hesitation, he opened his mouth to shout. However, before he could do so, the sound of a loud horn resounded through the air. The thing was, it was coming from outside the town. While I was wary, I could see Arthas's expression break into one of relief.

"Uther and the reinforcements are here! Hold fast!"

A cheer erupted around us, invigorating the fighting men and women of the Northlands. They renewed their morale and began to fight fiercely once again. After some time, I saw a large number of full-equipped knights riding around the central tower and into the town. They stormed through the swarm of undead, their blades slicing through the bodies as if they were chaff.

It wasn't long before the skeletons fell apart on their own, and the rest of the undead were fleeing, probably under the commandment of the last lich. The ranged soldiers quickly moved to take whatever free shots they could at the fleeing backs.

As for Arthas, he had started to move until he saw me or rather, the state I was in. A moment later, he unclasped his blue cloak and draped it over me. I was surprised but grateful since it was a cold night, and the magic that the lich wielded against me was icy in nature. With a quick thanks in the air, I quickly shadowed him. We moved through the town, towards the gates, just in time for a small party of the horsemen to make their way through the ripped and shredded gates and portcullis, the edges of the destroyed metal lined with frost. At their front was Uther, wearing his stylized paladin armor and looking a lot better than what we probably looked like. Arthas happily walked forward to greet him.

"Uther, your timing couldn't have been better."

"I could've been earlier," Uther said solemnly as he climbed off his horse.

"I'm surprised that you kept things together as long as you did, lad."

Arthas stopped and blinked. He had a disbelieving look on his face, and I had to agree. Was Uther reprimanding Arthas? Really? I moved in closer to let the Prince know that I had his back like a good employee should. He glanced at me for a moment before his face hardened.

"If I hadn't arrived just then—"

"Look, I did the best I could, Uther! If I'd had a legion of knights riding at my back, I would have…"

"Now is not the time to be choking on pride!" Uther gave a stern look at the younger man. "I was praising you, not chiding you, lad. What we faced here was only the beginning. The undead ranks are bolstered every time one of our warriors falls in battle."

"Then we should strike at their leader. I'll go to Stratholme and kill Mal'Ganis myself if I have to!"

"Easy, lad. Brave as you are, you can't hope to defeat a man who commands the dead all by yourself."

Uther did not seem to realize that his words were antagonizing Arthas. I had seen this before at the corporate level. The clashes of the future heir of the company with the old guards. They saw him as naive and inexperienced in need of guidance while the heir was trying to prove his worth, no matter the cost. It often ended in upheaval with one side ousting the other.

"Then feel free to tag along, Uther. I'm going. With or without you."

"Listen to reason, lad!" Uther grabbed Arthas by both of his arms.

"We can't afford to wait!" Arthas pushed away the hands, forcing Uther to back away.

"I am ordering you to wait until I arrive with the Silver Hand." Uther leveled a glare at Arthas. "You are to take the 1st Legion across and wait for me. Do nothing until I arrive. Is that understood?"

"Fine." Arthas visibly gritted his teeth but obeyed. "If he escapes…"

"He won't."

Arthas nodded once before he turned around and began walking away. I made to follow after Arthas, but a strong heavy hand clasped onto my shoulder. It was a grip that had the strength of a seat belt, flexible yet strong enough to hold me back. I turned around to see Uther looking at me with a bit of respect, which was always a plus for me.

"You're coming with me to Avalon. I want to hear about everything since your discovery of the plague and what happened here." Uther's face softened a bit as he took in my presence. "While we're there, we'll get you some better gear. You'll need it for the battle ahead."

I looked at Arthas who glanced back. There was a moment of indecision on his face before he turned away and continued walking. It was silent sign of consent if I ever saw one. Seeing as I was going to Tyr's Hand no matter what I thought, I nodded at Uther. He smiled as he released me.

Behind him, I saw some of the 1st Legion mages opening up a portal to somewhere. The vision on the other side showed a reflection of some sort of stone keep. The liches' corpses were secured by one of the legion's priest, and she entered the portal while holding what was essentially robes, jewelries, and bundles of tied together bones. A moment later, I saw the two of the mages who were holding the portal together looked strained, their faces growing paler by the second. The third was drenched in sweat. After they finally let the portal collapse, they staggered forward a bit, relying on their staffs to support them in staying upright. Seeing that reminded me of my own exhaustion.

I was already tired from the long night of fighting and looking forward to some rest when I spotted Jaina. Oddly enough, she spotted me at the same time from her spot on top of a horse. It was a fascinating sight to see, as her expression which held concern for Arthas and the situation in general changed to one of aggressive inquisitiveness the moment her gaze turned to me, as if I was a bug nailed to a wall. I shivered at the look and instinctively pulled the cape wrapped around me closer to get more warmth from it. The chilly gaze intensified, and I found myself unable to bear it so I turned my sight to the sky.

As the dawn peeked from the horizon, I could feel it in my body that this was going to be a long morning.

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Icura: This was a hard one to get out. Got to say, this is the part that makes me glad that I have a co-author to work with me through it. Thank you guys for all the support. Honestly, I thought I would just have a niche audience until the warcraft 3 remake so it was a big surprise for me to have this many fans and passionate discussion.

Vahn (Vahnhammer): Yes, there is a place called New Avalon in WoW. That is the name now, but back then in WC3 and before, it was probably just called Avalon. Lol! Whew, me and Icura did a lot of work! We had wanted to release part 2 soon, but a shit ton of things got in our way that prevented us from working on it. Hope you guys enjoy. Also loving the discussions!


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

Being woken up by someone shaking you wasn't the most pleasant experience. A new order or an emergency would often be the reasoning behind these abrupt awakenings so my first reaction was panic. My second, when my mind booted up, was to request a status report. I was currently in the midst of that second phase as I looked groggily up at the apron-wearing woman who had so much muscles and girth on her body that I would have thought she was a paladin-in-training if it weren't for the cleaning clothes she wore. Or maybe she was, except she was assigned to cleaning duty today.

"Milady, Lord Uther wants you to prepare. He said to tell you he'd be leaving within the hour."

"I understand. I'll be out soon."

"Then I'll be leavin' your gear and weapon here."

After she left my room, I slowly pushed myself up. With the knowledge that I still had a bit of time, I could feel the tension leaking out of me, trying to lull me back to relaxation and possibly sleep. Logically, however, an hour wasn't that short of a time. Normally, a couple of hours beforehand would be the norm, but the fact that Uther allowed me to sleep for longer showed a sort of compassion, though I felt it was a bit justified with just how much he grilled me for information before letting me rest in the first place. The mark of a valued employee was the ability to give a report under trying conditions.

Luckily, my achievements spoke for themselves so I didn't really had to downplay any aspect, which would have been considerably harder since I was tired at the time. After we took a portal to Avalon along with a few of his bodyguards, I was promptly taken aside to give my story to him in private. I didn't leave much out of my report, and he made me repeat several parts in detail, but I got the sense that he was satisfied with my concise way of summarization. There were a few more questions at the end, but I couldn't remember what those were since they had faded from my memory. In fact, I couldn't even remember how I got into this room, though someone must have led me here since I probably would have just fallen asleep on the ground otherwise.

On the chair was a set of black and gold clothing, neatly folded. Leaning against the chair was a metal staff that looked significantly more durable than my previous one. The metal at the top was shaped into a cross encased within a circle that was twice as big as my head. When I picked it up, I could feel a rather big weight increase, roughly heavier than my old wooden staff by at least a half. It was hard to accurately tell just from that so I moved it around and tossed it up into the air to test the weight and balance. What did I learn from that? Not much really. It didn't seem to have any obvious defects, though it was top-heavy. Setting it aside on the bed, I shifted through the clothes.

I tried not grimace. I really did try. However, it wasn't like I could ask for a more conservative combat robe; the quality that the runes inscribed on the fabric wasn't something that could be easily replicated. It was essentially armor, and a soldier couldn't ask for another set of equipment unless they showed sufficient evidence that their current was defective. Wiping away my hesitation, I took off my sleeping clothes and began putting on my new ones. When I was done, I took a look in the mirror.

The main portion of my clothing was a leotard that covered my neck and extended down to my pelvis, ending in a v-shape. It had no sleeves or leggings, with the top half being primarily gold while the bottom was black. It came with black arm sleeves that ended in gloves and black stockings, though they left my forearms and thighs exposed. All in all, it was skintight and elastic. I wasn't unfamiliar with custom-fitted business suits or combat uniforms, but they allowed a certain level of bagginess that I was used to. Here, it felt more like a second set of skin. Despite that, it was definitely combat wear since I could move freely and easily, more so than even my previous robes, though the feeling of the fabric stretched over my skin—such that I could even feel the breeze from my open window—was a strange one that was hard to get used to.

There was a pair of pauldrons—oddly regular in size compared to the ones I had seen—with little vestment tassels hanging from them that reached down to my waist. On them were holy words that I recognized and could feel powerful enchantments from, though I wasn't sure what their purpose was. There were also a few trinkets like rings and a necklace which I wore without much thought. I placed on my head a golden hat with silver inlays that was far larger than my head, but the thing I found odd about it was that no matter how I moved or tilted my head, it stayed on regardless. Fitting over the entire ensemble was a tabard, a loose short coat, that was primarily white with the L symbol of Lordaeron in silver. It provided a measure of cover and protection, but it was loosely fitted around me, as if it was an apron. Though, thinking about it from an armor perspective, it was probably more akin to a Kevlar vest.

Of course, I didn't have too much time to spend pondering about my clothing. Using the mirror, I set about with my morning grooming, making sure that my hair wasn't too messy and that I had a light layer of make-up, to give myself a natural but enhanced look that gave off a better impression but retained a professional appearance. I spent a little extra effort on that, especially considering that I was in Avalon, the headquarters of the Knights of the Silver Hand. As they were a reputable and powerful organization in Lordaeron with ties to the kingdom and the Holy Church, it made sense to prepare a good first impression with anyone I meet in order to build connections.

Once that was done, I put on my similarly themed golden boots and made my way into the hallway. Along the way, I asked for directions as to where Uther was, and I was given it pretty easily. There was still some time so I made sure that I greeted and had a few words with everyone I met on the way. Well, the ones that seemed like they had time. The people who were avoided were those that stared straight ahead with purpose and walked a gait faster than normal. The purpose of this socializing, after all, was to spend a minute to develop a connection that could blossom into benefits in the future, not to spark annoyance and a bad impression.

Not to mention that I was able to gather some information from my chats that gave me an idea of the general situation of this place. When I walked out of the large building that was essentially an apartment complex, I took in the sight of the little quaint town of Avalon. There were a quite a few buildings, but the scale was on the level of a rural town. In fact, if I couldn't see the massive city walls of the nearby city of Tyr's Hand, I would have thought this was a rural area. No, this whole area was the Silver Hand Enclave that was cloistered off in the bottom right corner of Eastweald, surrounded by mountains and the sea. Avalon itself was a secluded town where the families of the Order of the Silver Hand resided. The only way to reach Avalon through the inland route was to go through the city to the west, Tyr's hand, where the rest of the populace lived.

It was a good town; I could see plenty of people rushing back and forth, both knights and laborers. A question to a few people led me to the field just outside of the town, where I found a mass of two hundred knights in golden armor preparing their horses and attaching satchels filled with supplies. Since time was essential, there were no caravans so all the supplies had to be carried on their person or their horse. I thought about mingling with the less busy ones, but I had used up too much time greeting people on the way. By moving through the crowd and asking a few pointed questions, I was able to quickly locate Uther who was off to the side, attending to his own horse. Settled on the ground beside him was his stone-sanctified hammer, similar in design and scope as Arthas's warhammer even though it was of a different material and make. As I approached, I made sure to call out so that I wouldn't surprise him.

"Lord Uther!"

"Wait a moment, lass," Uther said as he glanced back at me. "I'll be done soon."

I walked up to his side and waited patiently as the veteran paladin issued the last of his orders to what looked like messengers before he finished attaching a few satchels to his horse. Only then did he turn to me.

"So how was your sleep?"

"I'm well-rested and ready to depart, sir!"

"We'll leave in a little while, once my knights are ready," Uther said. "You'll be riding with me."

"Sir?"

"You've a bright future ahead of you, lass, but I imagine they'll know about you and Arthas slaying those liches. We can't afford to risk you in an ambush," he said. "Don't worry. You won't be riding with this old man for that long. These horses are blessed steeds, imbued with holy light. They can maintain their speed for a full day and night before needing rest, but we won't need them for that long. Stratholme is normally more than half a day's ride, but with these steeds, it'll be shorter."

It seemed like this journey was still going to take awhile. I wasn't looking forward to another bumpy horse trip.

~o~

Eight hours. It had taken eight hours of riding before we came to a stop before a blockade obstructing the entrance to the Eastweald Forest. Normally, I would be relatively fine from all this riding except for perhaps a sore behind. That was definitely not the case this time.

I hadn't really taken notice when Uther said that these were holy infused horses. Perhaps, I should have taken that as a sign.

The scenery had sped by me in a blur that exceeded my previous experiences while the wind continuously buffeted me, sending my hair flapping around me. Since I was sitting in front of Uther, strands of my hair probably slapped him in the face countless times, though he never showed any indication that he noticed. His arms, on both sides of me, were holding onto the reins of the horse and acted as the only safety harnesses preventing me from falling right off. As it were, I simply bounced off them repeatedly through the entire eight hours of the horse ride.

You know what it reminded me of? A cockpit. A cockpit inside the suicidal rocket shot into the heart of the Francois Republic. It was like being strapped to the front of a train, but it didn't have the common courtesy to be an Imperial train. Instead, it was a Japanese train. As a flight mage, I had gone to speeds far above that, but I had barrier spells that protected me from both the speed and temperature. Here, I could only rely on my body, the enchantments on my clothes, and periodic spells to stave off the effects. As it was, my face was simply chilled to the point where I could barely feel it.

Uther rode the horse—with me as well—up to the blockade. Several of the soldiers were already moving the wooden barricades aside, having recognized the famed paladin, while the officer, denoted by his cape, stood at attention and saluted.

"Lord Uther, Prince Arthas told us to expect you and to let you know he set up a defensive perimeter just outside the city."

"What is this? What are these barricades doing here?"

"The Prince ordered a blockade of all roads leading to Stratholme," the officer said. "We are to turn back any travelers."

"Since when?"

"A couple of hours ago, my lord."

"And the reason?"

"The Prince didn't say."

Uther clucked his tongue and muttered under his breath, "What is that boy thinking?"

It took a short while before all the barricades were moved, and the strike force was back to riding. From this distance, I could see the walls of the city coming into sight. It was still a far ways away, but the army that milled about before the walls was a hard sight to miss, and as we got closer, the size of the 1st Legion was not something that anyone could dismiss. There were thousands of soldiers on the fields within my sight, gathered into square camps. As our horses approached, we slowed down.

It wasn't hard to get directions, and it wasn't long before a small group of our horses split off. While we headed to where Arthas was, the rest moved to join the camps and get a bit of rest from the long journey. Our grouping of a dozen horses made our way through the paths in between the formations and the camps. We trotted to the bridge just outside the entrance to the city of Stratholme, one that was positioned over the moat that surrounded this side of the city. Falric and Marwyn were standing just before the bridge, while Arthas was walking with Jaina across the bridge toward us though I could see those two were in deep conversation. Uther swung off the horse and then helped me down. The two noticed our arrival as we walked up to greet them.

"Glad you could make it, Uther," Arthas said impatiently, forgoing any sense of courtesy, as he stepped off the bridge.

"Watch your tone with me, boy! You may be a prince, but I am still your superior as a paladin."

"As if I could forget," Arthas said with a shake of his head and a dismissive expression, but it faded when he then turned his gaze to me. "I see you're back."

I snapped a salute. "I am back and ready to serve, Prince Arthas!"

Arthas's face softened a bit before he turned to Uther.

"Did Tanya tell you about the workings of the plague?"

"As much as the lass could," Uther said with a nod. "Is that why you blockaded the roads?"

"I had to quarantine the city. No one in and no one out." Arthas balled up his fist. "By the time we arrived here, we were already far too late. Everyone is already infected, and it's only a matter of time before they flood out of there. We have to strike now before they are organized."

"What do you mean?"

"We must purge the entire city," Arthas said, his expression reluctant yet determined.

"What?!" Uther looked shocked and appalled, and his expression was mirrored by several around us including Jaina. "How can you even consider that?!"

"It has to be done." Arthas turned his eyes over to me. "You were there at Hearthglen. You remember what those people became after the cultist turned them."

"Yes." I nodded solemnly and looked at the city's walls. "Are they all turned?"

"As far as I could see."

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. There were few alternatives in that case.

"Then I don't see any way to avoid it." I turned to Uther and Jaina. "Either we end them now, or they will overrun the countryside. We can't hope to quarantine a hostile population of this size with our current numbers. If we act too late, the entire region could possibly be devastated. That could lead to a complete collapse of the social and economic structure of the entirety of the Alliance."

"Know your place, girl!" Uther glared at me. I promptly lowered my gaze and bowed my head. "How can the two of you be so cold-hearted? So ruthless?"

"Tanya at least understands what must be—no, what needs to be done," Arthas said firmly, not backing down to Uther. "The more we delay here, the faster that Mal'Ganis's plan comes to fruition. We must stop him here and now before he gains a massive army."

"How can you even consider that?" Uther tightly gripped his fingers into a fist. "There's got to be some other way!"

"Damn it, Uther. As your future king, I am ordering you to purge this city!"

"You are not my king yet, boy," Uther replied scathingly. "Nor would I obey that command if you were!"

"Then I must consider this an act of treason."

With that one word alone, everyone in the area stilled. The silence was almost deafening with Uther's shocked expression morphing into one of incredulity that soon settled into righteous anger.

"Treason? Have you lost your mind, Arthas?"

"Have I? Lord Uther, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you from your command and suspend your paladins from service."

"Arthas," Jaina began to plead. "You can't just…"

"It's done!" Arthas swept his gaze over the rest of the troops gathered here. "Those of you who have the will to save this land, follow me. As for the rest of you…get out of my sight."

Silence seemed to stretch endlessly as the fame paladin stared grimly at his former pupil.

"You've just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas," Uther finally said before he turned away and began walking back to his horse. The other paladins in attendance mounted their horses and began riding off. Jaina took a glance at Arthas before she too began to walk away.

"Jaina…?" Arthas looked taken aback.

"I'm sorry, Arthas." Jaina stopped, but she didn't turn around. "I can't watch you do this."

There were no more words between the two as she left. The atmosphere was heavy and the tension was thick. The soldiers were looking at each other, unsure of what to do. Quite frankly, even I didn't know what to do or say. Things had changed too quickly and had gone too far off my expectation. I had just practically witnessed the fallout between the heir and the old guard. What I wanted to do most was to take a step back, but I could see Falric and Marwyn urging me to go talk to Arthas, as if I could do something about him. Did they want me to start it and segue into their own conversation? It was hard to tell by their facial expressions and hand signals, but it was clear that they wanted me to do something so eventually, I made my way over to where Arthas was morosely standing.

"Prince Arthas…" My voice trailed off when I noticed that he wasn't even listening. His expression was almost blank, dead-like, and I knew that this was not an expression that he should be having as a prince, not if he wanted to inspire the troops to do what needed to be done. I placed my hand on his wrist and gently squeezed it, causing him to look up at me. "Prince Arthas, we'll prove Lord Uther wrong. You're not alone in this."

Arthas blinked and then looked around at the soldiers surrounding him, his eyes clearing up as he saw the resolute gazes returned to him. When he finally turned back to me, there was an intense look in his eyes.

"Thank you, Tanya." Gently removing my hand, Arthas moved to stand before the gathered soldiers. "Send a messenger. Tell them to start the assault."

"As you command, milord."

"As for the rest, let us be off. We begin now." Arthas began to walk across the bridge as the soldiers formed up and marched behind him. Looking at them, I frowned as I quickly caught up with the prince.

"Prince Arthas," I began. "If the entire city is undead, wouldn't it be better to just burn it down from a distance? We can always rebuild, but losing soldiers seems wasteful."

"I considered it," Arthas replied. "But a firestorm of this scale would require a large number of arch-magi from Dalaran, and we don't have time to wait for them."

"What about just setting the town on fire ourselves? We could just make catapults, gather oil, and lob it in."

"It would not take." Arthas gave a rueful smile. "The stones are enchanted. Anything less than arcane fire will not spread easily. There's a reason that it is considered the second strongest city in the kingdom."

"Ah…" The way he explained it felt like how it would be explained to a country bumpkin, but how was I supposed to know that the stone was enchanted?

There were no more words between us as we crossed over the bridge. The soldiers guarding the entrance to the city opened the way, and Arthas signaled them to fall in line with us. As we marched through the gateway, through the opened double doors and the raised portcullis, I could feel a sort of tension run through me.

"Remember, these people are all infected with the plague. We must purge Stratholme to protect the remainder of Lordaeron from the Scourge," Arthas said. "Let's go."

As we stepped into the city proper, contrary to my expectations of what would essentially be a zombie apocalypse, what I found was tons of civilians milling about. Living people who switched to gawking at us upon our arrival.

"It's the Prince. Praise be the Light!"

"Is that Prince Arthas? Has he come to help?"

"Prince Arthas, help us please!"

"The Legions are with him. We're saved!"

"Thank the Light. Bless Prince Arthas!"

I stopped in my tracks and turned to Arthas, my confusion plain on my face.

"I thought you said they were all undead?!"

Arthas frowned at me, perhaps surprised at my outburst, but he soon shook his head. "Look at them closely, Tanya."

There were crowds of spectators that were forming around, though the soldiers quickly fanned out to block them with their tower shields as if they were riot police. The thing that I noticed was that many of them had paled skin with a very unhealthy hue and black veins that could be visibly seen running under their skin. As I had already examined the infected's condition before, I knew that these were signs of the late stages, but the thing that confused me was why they were still up and about. They should have been bedridden at this point, but they were talking and moving about as if they were still normal. This didn't make any sense.

"It was a matter of days instead of weeks," Arthas quietly said. "They knew we were coming."

"Their condition is being accelerated…?" My question was whispered under my breath.

"Yes." Arthas, for once, shared his sorrow in his voice, even as he left my side and marched to the front of the line. He approached a man who, judging from his clothing, was a baker.

"Ah, Prince Arthas! Thank the Light you are here. What's happening to us?"

"I'm sorry." Arthas surveyed the crowd and bowed his head in apology. "I'm so sorry. I can only grant you a clean death."

"I beg your pardon?" the baker asked, just a moment before his head was crushed by Arthas's hammer. As his headless body dropped and the viscera-splashed crowd began to realize what had just happened, cries of shock began to ring out.

"Soldiers!" Arthas bellowed. "You know what to do!"

"Prince Arthas?!"

"What's going on?!"

"No…please no!"

The footmen that had been blocking the crowd with their tower shields began to stab out with their swords into the first line of people. It was indiscriminate as men and women began to fall, their faces set into horrified expressions as their life drained out of them. Blood splattered as dozens died in the opening attacks. The soldiers behind began rushing to the nearby houses, kicking the doors open, and entering into the confines. I could hear the screams and cries for help echoing from in the insides, just before they were silenced. By this time, people were running, scattering as they sought out safety even as the footmen chased after them while the archers and riflemen shot at their backs. Mages were launching area of effect spells, catching multitudes in blasts of ice, fire, and arcane might. As they were civilians, they had no way to defend themselves against the magic. Some of the city guards fought back, but they were quickly put down by the professionals of the 1st Legion.

This…didn't feel right. My thoughts turned to a similar situation from my past.

In Arene, the populace had been hostile and violent, and the entirety of the frontline was at stake. Even though it was essentially an atrocity, it conformed to the rules of war, and there was a very good rational reason why it had to be done. This was…similar in a way, but it was different as well. The people here were our own, but leaving them as they were would only result in their eventual death and drafting into the undead army. There was a rational enough reason to end this now, before they could become a massive, uncontrollable threat.

However, I couldn't accept this. This was a prevention, but was the prevention of a crime the correct way? Arene was already a crime in progress so having the book thrown at them was logical and rational. They had killed so they were in-turned killed. The fact that they held the lifeline of the Imperial western army in their grasp only expedited that conclusion. Here, however, they were innocent. They were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, victims of a madman's virulent plague.

"Please no!"

"Ahhhhh—urk!"

"Please, spare my son! Run, Timmy!"

I blinked. Looking up, I saw the familiar sight of little Timmy and his mother, but they huddled at the back of a group being slaughtered. She was pushing the little boy to run, but he was refusing to.

"I'll do it." Falric placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, his voice full of sympathy. "I'll make sure it'll be clean."

I felt sick.

Was this what we had to do? Street by street for the entire city? Why were they not undead? It would have been so much easier, so much clearer if they were already undead. Damn you, Being X!

"Hahaha!" A malicious voice echoed through the air, making the soldiers halt their progress and take a defensive stance. Even the civilians who were, moments ago, being massacred looked confused. It took me a little to locate the laughter to a demonic being standing on the rooftop of a nearby residential building. His eyes glowed with green light, his skin was pale, long knife-like ears stuck out from the side of his head, and two goat-like horns jutted out of his forehead. Large bat wings extended out of his back and the ends of his fingers had long, bladed nails. His armor was green and gold, designed to resemble the kind that a tyrannical overlord would wear. He grinned widely, showing off his vampiric incisors as his laughter slowed. "I have been waiting for you, Prince Arthas. I am Mal'Ganis."

The demonic being waved his hand. Green light struck the area around him, such that the crowd of people in the immediate area around the building stilled. Their eyes were glassy, but I noticed that the black veins were somehow becoming more darker, more pronounced.

"As you can see, your people are now mine." As if by some unseen command, the infected people looked as one in the direction of the soldiers and began lumbering towards them. Green light filled the demon's hand as it molded itself into an orb, one that the demon casually tossed toward another grouping of civilians. Just like the other one, the light filled that area and soon, shambling infected mindlessly came out and headed toward the soldiers. As for the demon, he merely laughed again. "I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flames of life has been snuffed out forever."

"I won't allow it, Mal'Ganis!" Arthas pointed his warhammer at the demon. "Better that these people die by my hand than to serve you in death!"

Mal'Ganis laughed once more as a dark green light enveloped him, making him disappear from sight. Arthas roared as he rejoined the fray against the encroaching undead.

Why couldn't this have been more black and white, more clear cut? Undead versus the living. Even though little Timmy had been changed into the Scourge's minion—oddly enough—his mother had not been. She was holding him down even as he struggled to get out of her grip. However, he wasn't attacking her. Why wasn't he attacking her?

More questions filled my mind. Why did Mal'Ganis show himself? Why hadn't he simply morphed the entire city with that green light? Why did things only start when we entered the city?

Was this a trap?

I looked at Arthas. He was battling in a fury, but even I could see the light surrounding him and his weapon was dimming, as if he was losing his conviction. The Scourge seemed unusually interested in the prince, from the very start at Andorhal. Even now, the undead were swarming towards Arthas more than anyone else. There was no doubt in my mind that this was a trap, one that he was willingly throwing himself into. Their previous traps had failed to kill him so they decided to undermine his faith in the Light to weaken him.

It was an elaborate set of traps that could only come from the mind of the nut cases in the Russy Federation. Who else would have the galls to sacrifice so many of their troops in a convoluted plan that had more chances of failing than succeeding? The similarities between the Scourge and the Federation was uncanny, such that I would even say that if Mal'Ganis had a mustache, he would be the very image of Josef Dzhugasvili.

However, if this was a trap, then I was already in the center of the web.

If the trap succeeded, that meant that…

I was going to die.

I felt dizzy.

There had to be a way out of this. The more that Arthas kept killing, the more that he would lose his holy powers. Without any other paladins in the city, Mal'Ganis would be able to kill him easily. After that, the rest of the 1st Legion would be easily slaughtered. Even if I could escape by myself, how far could I run? Would I be able to make it to the Silver Hand enclave before I was caught and killed? Since Mal'Ganis was targeting holy power, he would go after the clerics after he was done with Arthas. Since holy power had always been traditionally strong against undead, even back in the popular media in my previous worlds, there was no doubt in my mind that I would become his focus, and I wouldn't be able to survive that for long.

That meant that Arthas was my only hope for survival, especially since Mal'Ganis seemed reluctant to fight him directly while he retained his holy power. Therefore, I had to stop Arthas from killing more civilians before he lost all of his faith in the Light, but how? If he wasn't going to listen to Uther, then how was I supposed to convince him now? It was sunk cost fallacy. He had already started killing so to make him stop now was to invalidate his earlier determination. Wouldn't he fall into a deeper depression then?

So I was screwed if I do and screwed if I don't.

What should I do?

What could I do?!

I was grasping my head at this point, but I didn't care. Was my only option to lie down and die?

I refuse!

I started laughing. Opening my eyes wide, I laughed as the world seemed to crumble around me. A madness was overtaking me, but what did it matter? If I was going to die no matter what I did, then I would do it on my own terms. I raised my hands into the air. In the school in this very city, I had been taught—warned—that taking too much of the Light into yourself was detrimental. Those that had done so had sacrificed themselves for a burst of power, and some of them had canonized as saints for the deeds. If they could do it, why couldn't I?

The plague would come back after a regular cleanse, but what if I burned it out on the cellular level? What if I saturated it all with the Holy Light?

Why couldn't I just wipe it out completely?

I could feel the energies of the Light answering my call. Looking up at the sky, I cursed Being X as I channeled more of the Light into me. To send me into a world steeped in modernized warfare with the convention of rules was one thing, but to send me to a world on the verge of a zombie apocalypse?

"Screw you, Being X!"

I could feel the golden energy spilling forth into my surroundings, brightening the area.

"Tanya?" I heard Arthas call out to me. Looking around me as more of the Light poured through me like a broken facet, I could see that the infected were slowing down. Soon, they completely stopped. The soldiers began to notice, and even the other priests were staring.

"What?!" The very same demonic voice from earlier echoed out from far away. A hue of green light smashed into the golden surroundings, as if that was a barrier instead of an outpouring. It seeped through and touched the infected, fighting distinctly against my influence. I could feel it as if it was an attack directed to me.

No, it was indeed a direct attack against me. I could feel the necrotic energy struggling with the light, moving as if aiming for my soul. I dropped to my knees as the strength and pressure of the dark magic began overwhelming my own.

"Tanya!" Several concerned voices rang out…or was it just one? I couldn't tell as I fought desperately.

I wasn't even sure of what I was doing or what I was fighting for, but I knew that I needed more power. Arthas was by my side, and I could see the clerics trying to help me with their holy magic, but it wasn't enough. Even the increased flow of Light that was flooding my body to my limits wasn't enough. I channeled the Light into my weapon which amplified the holy energy by several folds. I felt it pour out from my very skin, but the green light was still threatening to overpower me.

"I need more."

"Lady Tanya?" Falric called out to my left.

My staff shattered in my hands, no longer able to handle the output of energy I was pouring into it.

"I need far more!"

"Tanya! Stop channeling the Light!" Arthas's voice rang out.

The runes on my clothes burned away as the enchantments designed to protect me began to fail.

"More, more, more!"

"Stop her now!" Arthas was shouting an order to someone.

I could barely focus, but something was bubbling up in me. Something…familiar…

"Oh, Lord!"

Words I had thought that I had left behind long ago were uttered from my throat without my consent. My mind froze as my heart felt like it was expanding, a familiar sensation filling my entire body. I stood up onto my feet, as if I had been floating. "I beseech you to save my homeland."

"Tanya?" Confused voices distantly reached me.

Gears began to crank, to shift and turn, to move like clockwork as energy flowed within the channels.

"To let your flock not fall to darkness; to light the way to our salvation!"

The energy within my heart exploded. A dome of light expanded out from my body, moving without limits. It covered everything within my sight and even beyond my sight as I could feel its boundaries moving beyond the district's limits.

"God's miracles are great."

My voice echoed loudly and clearly as the golden glow intensified. My feet left the ground as I began levitating. An ocean of power and a sea of voices filled my head, blotting out my thoughts.

"Praise the Lord."

A torrent of holy energy erupted from me, strengthening and extending the dome of light.

"And he shall save you!"

In that moment, I was here and everywhere. The power that I felt was from my domain. The voices that I heard was the people within. Looking down on them, I felt it more than I saw it. The necrotic energy was being filtered out rapidly, returning many of those voices to normal, but there were four points of massive dark energy that remained within. I attacked all four. Roars echoed throughout the city, demonic in nature, but they were of pain. Excruciating pain. They escaped before I could do more to them, but I had forced them out. After that, I solidified my domain and expelled out the blight.

Time. I didn't know how long I was in that state of being. It was only with vague realization that I found myself falling. It was hard to think, but I had been expecting to die. I just wasn't expecting to die from falling.

To do all this just to die so ridiculously.

However, instead of the hard, unforgiving feel of the ground, I felt myself being caught into the embrace of arms.

I blearily saw a mop of blond hair with blue eyes staring at me with concern and disbelief just before I closed my eyes and surrendered to fatigue.

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Vahn (Vahnhammer): Yeah. Tanya just did that. We pictured something similar to what Anduin did in Battle of Azeroth but city wide scale.

Oh and you wanted interludes? Cause this is HOW you get interludes! Finally, we have been holding back. Now, prepare for the interludes! What you thought we were gonna stick with the rails cannon? In the words of Tanya old empire. NIEN! Worry not. we will cover enough around the world with the Interludes.

Icura: I always get stuck on minor scenes. I don't get stuck on the major scenes, the ones that are important, but I have this weird habit of getting into jams with small interactions or dialogues that make me feel like I can't do them right or get past them. I even acknowledge that, in the grand scheme of things, they are very minor and they often won't stay in my audience's mind, yet I always do get stuck at those parts. And I always have to get Vahn to extract me out of those pitfalls.


	9. Interlude 1

Interlude 1

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

**Interlude: Mayor**

~o~

The knife sank into the meat of the steak in a dreary motion. With a similar style of repetition, it was moved back and forth, sawing into the meat. Every motion was made with the same tired disdain, even as he lifted the fork to his mouth and slid the precisely cut piece into his mouth. It was bland and tasteless in flavor and texture. This was not because of a lack of effort on the chef's part; this was simply because he had lost his appreciation on life. Across from where he sat at the head of the table was a mirror that spanned the entire wall, reflecting his image in all its imperfection. Dull, gray eyes stared, sunken and encircled by dark lines, a testament to the very little sleep that he got these days. Some would say that it was due to his job, but it wasn't at all. At least, not entirely. As a habit, he wore an elaborate nobleman's coat, his official working clothes of which he had seven different sets. To his eyes, though, they were all alike, such that the differentiations made no difference to him.

A series of knocks stopped his hands mid-motion. He turned his gaze to the closed door.

"Who is it?"

A voice, muffled behind the door, was soon heard.

"It's your adjutant, Mayor."

"What did I say about interrupting my meal?"

"The merchant's guild has sent another petition. They were insistent."

"I don't care how much money they stand to lose by not sending off their caravans; this matter is out of my hands. If Prince Arthas wants to search the city for fugitives, it's well within his authority as royalty. We, as loyal subjects of Lordaeron, do not have the right to object. If the guilds wants out so badly, they can talk to the Prince themselves. Now, is there anything of actual importance to justify this interruption?"

"I apologize, Sir."

"Since you are here, tell me. Have you carried out my orders and appeased the peasantry?" he asked. "The lords and ladies will take issue with me if the merchants instigate them to protests and riots."

"The reserved grain has been distributed for free as you had ordered."

"Then take your leave. Do not bother me again unless it's important."

After waiting a moment to listen to the footsteps walking away, he continued his repetition of a meal. To him, that was all it was: a reenactment of the process to gain subsistence. It was a daily occurrence that happens three times a day, but when did it become like ash in his mouth? As a celebrated hero of the second war, attention had been paid to him even when he descended into drunken despair over the crippling injuries sustained in the midst of that war. However, by the end of the war, he had been all but forgotten. It was only in the midst of desperation that he found them, and they—with promises of power, status, and riches—made him rise.

This was a time of celebration. It was too bad that there was little pleasure to be had anymore. Maybe it was the terse temporality of it all. Food flushed down one's gullet into the stomach and out the rectum. The shortness depreciated its value, for what could it have in comparison to eternity?

He was sure that his wife and his daughter would appreciate the gift that he was going to bestow upon them. Maybe then, it would feel like it once did, when he married her five years ago. While her love remained true and strong even to this day, his was a thin veneer despite his best efforts. Even towards his daughter who he once loved far more than life itself, he now relied more on nostalgia to bring out even a modicum of emotion. Of Feeling. However, that—he reasoned—would be rectified soon enough. It was in that anticipation that he worked, that he slaved for this day. His efforts would soon be rewarded.

The knife slowly and precisely bit into the meat, cutting off a thin piece. Piercing it with his fork, he disdainfully raised it to his mouth. It fell in, and he chewed. Gritty, watery, and tasteless, as if he was chewing on sawdust. Once, he would had spat it out and complained to the chef. Now, he knew better; there was no amount of recooking or sauces that could improve—

He spat out a splatter of black blood as a pulse of energy went through him. For a moment, he thought it was poison, but the air around him was saturated with a golden glow, rippling with sparkles. Black smoke leaked out of his skin, slowly at first but ever-increasing. His eyes widened as the connections to his ghouls and abominations, hidden within buildings around the city, began to abruptly cut off.

What in the world was this? He scrambled to his feet, knocking over his chair. Rushing out of the room, he spared no glance to the two guards standing beside the doorway.

He ran past the civil servants lining the hallways, whom were staring in wonder at the golden glow as small wisps of black smoke were being pulled out of their body. The wisps lingered in the air for a few moments before they vanished as if they never were. To everyone, it was like a strange and unexplained phenomena, but he knew that those wisps were the malevolent toxins of the plague-infused grain. His worries and horror increased, even as he ran down the halls, stumbling and shoving people out of his way. He could feel the masses of necrotic energy in his body rapidly depleting, leaving him as surely as his flesh falling off. Ramming open the front doors, he took a few steps out before he stopped.

There was a pillar of light at the center of Stratholme, connected to a massive golden barrier that completely encapsulated the boundaries of the city. No, it went further beyond than the city, such that escape was impossible.

There was simply not enough time.

He fell to his knees.

"Mayor! Are you alright?!" Concerned voices and rushing footsteps, but it meant nothing to him. All his masks were peeling away from his skin as the magic that had become integral to his life departed from him.

Time had always been his enemy.

As his body fell apart, his spirit was left intact by his remaining necromantic power. Watching in spirit form, he saw the people around him panic and try to rouse him, but what could these peasant rouse from death? A new body would have been nice, but he could feel his remaining necromantic energy being pulled out even in this form.

Was this the end?

It was in that moment that he felt an overwhelming presence bear down on him, and he ceased to exist.

~o~

**Interlude: Lich King**

~o~

At the center of the icy northern continent of Northrend, there was a solitary mountain covered in snow. Within the hollow confines, there was a tall spire of ice, the very tip of which contained a frozen block of ice that encased a suit of armor. Housed within the suit of armor was the once proud soul of the orc shaman formerly known as Ner'zhul. Once, he had been a respected leader of the orcs of Draenor, but now, he was relegated to this eternal prison.

When the orc shaman had been captured by one of the acting leader of the Burning Legion, Kil'jaeden, his soul was separated from his body and bounded to the armor, all of which was encased in a block of ice from the Twisting Nether. He was granted the power he so desperately desired, extending his psychic abilities to unimaginable levels and giving him domain over death itself, but in exchange, his freedom was taken away from him and placed into the hands of his jailers and tormentors, the Nathrezim. They were demon-like creatures that served the Burning Legion willingly and fervently, and in some ways, their abilities superseded his own. However, they did not realize that his experience with calling upon the spirits as a shaman could combine with his newfound powers, creating different ways of using them that they were not privy to. They did not realize that he was plotting their downfall from the very first moment all the way to the present.

But it seemed that his freedom would be gone for longer still.

The eye sockets of the helmet flared with ethereal light as the psychic backlash seared him. The entire city that he had been overlooking had disappeared from his senses and reappeared as a burning beacon of the Light. All the minions that he controlled there had perished, and their deaths echoed across the connections. The searing wounds that had been left on his psyche were from the tendrils of Light that had snuck into those cords of connection. However, pain was a constant of his existence, given on a frequent enough basis by his tormentors, such that another drop in that ocean was hardly a ripple. Yet, what had happened in that city was not supposed to occur. The fact that it did was alarming, especially since four of the Nathrezim had been stationed there to ensure the success of his proposed plan. Mal'ganis, Detheroc, Balnazzar, and Varimathras.

They would be returning soon, if they weren't already killed. With any luck, the dreadlords would have perished, turning this failure into a bright success in his ethereal eyes.

Alas, it wasn't to be.

The area in front of his block of ice became saturated with Fel energy, the green flickers of malevolent power ripping across the stage at the tip of the spire. A powerful burst of Fel energy ignited, sending out a small shockwave as a charred body smashed into the icy floor. Lying on the ground, smoke rising from flesh that had been burnt off, was the emaciated form of Mal'ganis. His clothes barely hung on his frame, skin and flesh melted away at various spots to reveal bone and beating organs. Holes made his wings look like shredded curtains, and there was a golden taint on him that was dissipating by the second. One of his horns was completely missing, and his left arm had been charred off at the elbow with even the hollow of the bone having been burnt shut.

Ner'zhul stayed silent, watching as the dreadlord panted and breathed endlessly. He knew better than to draw attention to himself, especially when excruciating torment was a mere hand flick away.

Like it was now.

"You!" Mal'Ganis roared in his native demonic tongue as he reached out his Fel-encased clawed hand and squeezed, sending a wave of pain spreading throughout Ner'zhul's soul. A cry of agony echoed psychically across the ice platform, spreading out beyond the mountains and even reaching the four corners of the region of Ice Crown. The dreadlord rose his feet, his wings hanging on by only a thread of skin, even as he squeezed his hand harder. Ice began to break off the spire as the mountain rumbled under the wave of psionic energy that echoed from the imprisoned and tormented shaman.

"Stay your hand, Mal'Ganis," A calm and measured voice spoke before, in a flash of red, a dreadlord clad in the same color appeared on the icy platform. He did not make any move to restrain Mal'ganis, but the wounded dreadlord's power tapered away anyways.

"Tichondrius." The name came out as a growl, but even as pained as he felt, Mal'ganis was more perplexed at the other dreadlord's appearance. "What are you doing here?"

"I came at the behest of Detheroc. I know what has transpired at Stratholme," Tichondrius answered. "The other two besides him survived, in case you were wondering."

"That is…" Mal'ganis lowered his hand, his expression twisting as he stared at the red dreadlord. "…good."

Tichondrius merely smirked, as if he actually believed the wounded dreadlord's sentiment.

"I am sure," Tichondrius retorted sardonically. "But you should go back and recover. Lord Archimonde has put me in charge for now."

"What? But this is my task!" Mal'ganis looked alarmed before the red dreadlord held up a hand.

"It is only until you recover," Tichondrius replied in the same calm manner. "After all, the mortal races have proven themselves to be a lot more…capable than we anticipated."

Mal'ganis's face darkened at the reminder.

"With any luck, you may even recover before the campaign is over." Ignoring the other dreadlord's indignant expression, Tichondrius turned to Ner'zhul. "It appears your plans have failed, Lich."

"Wait, I can still—"

"Enough!" Fel energy gathered in his palm as Tichondrius raised his hand upward. A powerful beam of Fel shot out from his hand, lancing and shattering through the top of the mountain. It pierced through the sky and erupted into space, dissipating out the further it went from the planet.

"What are you…"

"Salvaging your plans," Tichondrius said as he clasped his fist closed, ending the energy supplied to the beam. It soon faded out, but its purpose had been served. Any being well-versed in the arcane arts on the planet that was even remotely looking in this direction would have seen it, even as far out as the southern islands. "I have sent out an invitation. You will need to work hard to get them to accept it."

"What do you mean?" Ner'zhul was perplexed, but more than that, he was still reeling by the changes to his plans.

"Whatever assets you have in the human kingdoms and their…Alliance…" The dreadlord began as he stared frostily at the living armor encased in ice. "Activate them. Have them launch a campaign of terror so horrifying that it will enrage them to act. Spread the rumor that a 'King of Liches' in Northrend commanded these atrocities."

"We…we will lose a significant amount of forces in doing so, Lord Tichondrius," Ner'zhul feebly said.

"There are still plenty of the living in Northrend. The Troll kingdom to the east comes to mind. That includes a graveyard full of wyrms if I recall correctly," the red dreadlord nonchalantly replied. "Replenish your forces on them."

There was a moment of silence before Ner'zhul answered. "As you will it."

"I do." Tichondrius chuckled before he disappeared in a flash of red. A moment later, a flash of green followed him.

Left alone with his thoughts, Ner'zhul glared balefully at the spots where the dreadlords had previously been. There was no need to waste all of his forces in the Eastern Kingdoms; the disposable ones and those whose usefulness had come to an end were more than enough to carry out the orders of the dreadlords, as long as they were strategically used. No, what worried him was the power displayed at Stratholme. Judging by the injuries sustained by Mal'ganis and the taint of Holy Light that stuck stubbornly to his flesh, Arthas had pulled off a miracle on a scale that far exceeded his expectations. Would they raise him on a pedestal for his deed or would they hide his powers, maybe using a scapegoat to divert the eyes of his cultists? Either way, Arthas was now a volatile choice. The Prince was still the best of his options, but that was all that he was: the best of several different options.

Up until now, he had left the majority of Northrend alone so that he would draw as little attention as possible from the magi's eyes. Now, with Tichondrius's hand in exposing him, there was no point in delaying. His forces were large enough to bring the trolls and the other life forms into the fold within due time, but he needed more. It was time to bring his most skilled necromancers and death knights back to him; he had need of their skills here in Ice Crown.

As Ner'zhul began to direct his undead army, another part of his consciousness started to put his contingency plans into motion.

~o~

**Interlude: Jaina**

~o~

Uther rode his horse, coming to a halt just outside the 1st Legion's camp and causing the rest of the riders to stop as well. He moved his horse to where Jaina was riding her horse, her head bowed with a sullen expression. However, she looked up at his approach.

"Lass, we have to stop Arthas."

"What? Why didn't you do that earlier?!" Jaina lashed out angrily at Uther. "What he's about to do—"

"Girl, think! If I had challenged him outright, he would have had the 1st Legion arrest us. The lad is stubborn enough to do it, and two hundred paladins cannot fight alone against a Legion, not without incurring grievous casualties on both sides," Uther said. "I had hoped that by walking away, the boy would realize the folly of his actions, but his anger at the Scourge has blinded him to all else."

Jaina dissected Uther's reply for a moment before she finally acquiesced with a whisper.

"What do you need me to do, Uther?"

"Good, lass. Now listen carefully. I am sending my paladins to all the tower garrisons across Eastweald to rouse the troops. I will stay here to convince those of the 1st Legion to follow my lead instead of Arthas's. Your task is the most important. I need you to tell the king about what has happened here and receive a royal edict rescinding Arthas's command of the 1st Legion."

"But isn't that… We can't…"

"Girl, now is not the time to be pondering loyalties! We are doing this for his own good, and if you are worried, fear not; I will accept full responsibility for everything done here this day so keep your head on straight. Teleport there and teleport back, and hurry. If you go fast enough, we may be able to save half the city."

"That's… Alright, I'll do it." Jaina took a deep breath, though it didn't help sort her conflicted emotions. She was angry at herself for not being able to stand with Arthas, but she hated the blond cleric more than ever now. That priestess was willing to slaughter the innocent, and to think that she had thought anything good about her. However, the time to think about that was not now. She moved her mana through her body, weaving the spells as she chanted the portal incantation.

Reaching the last line, she was about to finish it when massive spike of power made her head snap to the direction of the city. A beam of golden light shot up into the skies and expanded outward, spreading like a tidal wave. It took mere moments before the light spread even over them.

"What is…" Uther looked lost as his armor and body began glowing.

Jaina herself felt refreshed as all her fatigue washed away. The leaves and trees around her glowed with that same golden color. The paladins of the group were all staring towards the pillar of light that was at the epicenter of the spreading dome.

A pained demonic cry echoed through the forest.

Uther and Jaina took one look at each other before they urged their horses back toward Stratholme with the rest of the paladins in tow. They rode past the camps of the 1st Legion, which had many of the soldiers standing up and looking in wonders at the golden glow around them. However, a few of the soldiers were writhing on the ground as black smoke escaped their bodies in droves.

The riders ignored them all as they rode through the open gates and into the city proper. It was there, in a spot filled with far less corpses than she imagined, she saw Arthas cradling an unconscious Tanya. He didn't look up as he held her so very…

Tenderly.

~o~

Jaina was startled awake. It was still dark in the room, but she threw her blanket aside in frustration. Pulling her pillow over her face, she screamed into it, muffling both her voice and breath. It was only when she was done that she tossed that aside as well. It wasn't like she was going to be going back to sleep any time soon.

"Two weeks." The whisper came out weakly, brittle and fragile. It had been two weeks since she saw that scene. Two weeks since she started dreaming of that day over and over again like a broken magical record. How many times had she been frustrated by it all? Arthas, Tanya, and even Uther. Everyone and everything had changed since that day. Stratholme had been saved by Tanya; there was no denying that fact. The news had spread within a matter of days, and the new moniker that the priestess received aggravated her.

Tanya the Holy, as if the woman could do no wrong. Jaina knew the real person behind that title. A sly, conniving woman, but the story that was going around portrayed her as a saintess. The stories were even starting to affect her, as if to distort the past.

Jaina had many questions to ask her, but the priestess's action had left her in a deep slumber. In all this time, that woman hadn't woken up, and her legend was just piling up as time went on. The basis was reasonable at least, since Tanya had done the impossible and channeled enough of the Light that she should have died. In fact, every other cleric that had done the same had perished in the process, sacrificing themselves for the greater good. The fact that she was still alive was a miracle in itself, even if she was in a deep slumber. High clerics from all over had tried their best to heal her, but she was actually perfectly healthy in body as the Light was still coursing through her. Their only advice was to simply wait, and in that time, speculations on that day continued to grow.

Even her teacher, Archmage Antonidas, was at a loss about what happened in Stratholme. He was more concerned with the dreadlords which had turned out to be something far more sinister. They had thought at first that it was simply a demon, perhaps even a demon lord, that had slipped through the Twisting Nether and was trying to make a name for himself. They now knew, thanks to the Diviner College of Dalaran, that there were ties to a greater force. A far darker one that her teacher refused to explain further. They were, however, able to pinpoint the demonic point of origin to the distant land in the north, Northrend. A War Council with the Alliance's leadership had been called by King Terenas.

Meanwhile, the Church of the Light, in conjunction with Dalaran, had formed two groups—the Inquisition and the Tirisfal Guard—to help hunt down the demons and root out the Cult of the Damned. Already, there had been results as some high ranking officials in Lordaeron and the Alliance had been found to be involved. Baron Rivendare, a noble beloved by many, had turned out to be a cultist and was summarily executed just yesterday. Even the Mayor of Stratholme had been found to be a cultist as he had perished that day two weeks ago. The evidence found hidden in his home had led to a large scale purge throughout Lordaeron.

There was a cloud of mistrust that hung over the entire Alliance since just about anyone could be a cultist, and there had already been several terror attacks over the last couple of weeks. Until the Inquisition was done, no one really felt truly safe. Actually no, correction, no one felt truly safe unless they were in Stratholme, close enough to "The Holy." That was why there was an influx of people from all over the land, especially of those suffering from the plague and their families. The Inquisition was handling entry into the city to stop any cultist from infiltrating, and that had extended the wait time, creating a sizable encampment of civilians just outside the city walls.

Tanya was now under heavy guard. Jaina herself had been assigned by Antonidas just in case demonic agents sought to harm her.

It took a bit more time to get dressed, especially with how drowsy Jaina felt, but it wasn't like she could fall back asleep even if she tried so she endured through the hassle. Taking a look in the tall dressing mirror, she saw that she looked as good as she felt. In laymen terms, she looked horrendous.

There were puffy bags under her eyes with the whites of her eyes having streaks of red. Her eyes were half-lidded and twitched periodically, and her hair was a fizzled mess. Her skin felt and looked lackluster, and there was an oily sheen over her nose. All in all, these were complete failing marks if she ever saw one. However, it was hard to drum up the ability to care.

Leaving her room and the building, Jaina made her way through the darkened streets toward the central plaza. In spite of what one might think, there were still plenty of guards who were on patrol. They greeted her when they spotted her, but otherwise, they worked diligently at their job. In a way, they had to; guarding the city where Tanya resided in was a very sought out position. It wasn't that long of a walk since the room assigned to her was relatively close, but there were many guard checkpoints along the way. Even with her status, she was not exempt from the searches, especially since there had already been a couple of assassination attempts though none of them had actually come close. In spite that, there was no curfew, and there was a sense of relaxed safety that pervaded the atmosphere so there were still citizens walking the streets despite how early it was.

The central plaza had many guard outposts, especially in the four corners. Fences lined the portions that wasn't covered, making it feel more like a prison to her than anything else. After talking with the guards and being searched, Jaina walked toward the large tent at the center. Her fingers gripped the flap and pulled it aside a bit. However, she stopped mid-motion. There was already someone inside.

Arthas was sitting at a desk, doing paperwork, but he looked up to check up on Tanya every once in a while. Despite standing in the entryway, he didn't see her, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts. Jaina wanted to comfort him, but she knew that she wouldn't do him any good. He was still haunted by what he had done that day, and she wasn't in any position to support him. The few times that they had talked had been stilted and awkward. He had even shied away from her touch, and that had hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

On that day, Tanya's holy magic had saved many in the city, but those who were damaged too extensively did not return to the living. All in all, a hundred stayed dead while thousands more remembered being killed. It weighed heavily on many in the 1st Legion, enough that they eventually had to pull out and be replaced by the 2nd Legion. They had all been personally pardoned by King Terenas, but the guilt remained. Even in Arthas, it still lingered behind stormy eyes.

Jaina wanted to hold him and reassure him, regardless of everything that had happened. Despite her own mistakes and despite the fact that the only person who could truly help him find absolution was the one lying nearby on the bed, stuck in deep slumber. Her hand trembled. Slowly, she lowered the flap quietly and released it, taking a step back. Her hands covered her mouth, holding back the sob that threatened to escape her. That threatened to break her.

Eventually, after a long time, she recollected herself. Wiping away any excess, she turned around and headed for the exit to the central plaza. As much as she had her own issues weighing on her mind, there were larger problems that threatened the entire Alliance. Her own issues were insignificant in comparison. Throughout the whole continent, attacks from the undead and cultists had been on the rise, from the shores of Silverpine to the mountains of Khaz Modan. Small villages were being massacred, and their cemeteries plundered of bodies rather than jewelry. The number of incidents weren't that large, but the fact that they were rising could not be overlooked. The problem was becoming so pervasive that even Stromgarde, Gilneas, and Quel'Thalas was planning to attend the War Council, despite having left the Alliance years ago.

"Lady Jaina, what are you doing up so early?" Arthas's right hand man, Falric, took up steps besides her.

"I'm making my rounds now," Jaina said in what she hoped was a stable voice.

"What a coincidence. That's what I happen to be doing too," Falric said with a cheerful air. "I hope you don't mind my company."

"Not at all."

The walk was quiet, but it wasn't oppressive. They left the central plaza and walked a path around the city. Since it was still early morning, there wasn't that many people, but that changed the closer that they got to the quarantine zone. There was a small portion of the city that had been sectioned off, where the plagued victims arriving from other parts of the continent were being put in. This was mostly the territory of the clerics, and it showed with how many of them who were there despite the dark hours of the early morning. They were maintaining the conditions of the sick, staving off the stages, while the victims were waiting for Tanya to awaken and cure them. They clung to their hopes, but at the same time, she knew how unrealistic it was. If Tanya could have cured the plague, she would have done so in Brill. She wasn't that optimistic about Tanya bringing about that kind of power again. Clearly, the cost was significant, judging by her current condition.

Their patrol took them away from there and closer to the gate where, even at this hour, there was a lot of noise. People were trying to enter the city, and the Inquisition staff were working tirelessly to go through everything. In spite of that, it was a very slow process. As they got closer, Jaina noticed that there was a rather large commotion. Seeking to find out the issue and maybe help calm the situation down, she made her way over with Falric by her side.

"I am telling you that I know Lady Tanya! I worked at her behest. You must let me talk to her or the Prince. They must know of my work!" An apothecary in black robes with a large backpack was berating one of the guards. The guard, for his part, looked bored and annoyed.

"Get back in line and wait your turn."

"You fool! I hold the cure to all these people. You must let me see them!"

"Yeah, sure," the guard responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm best friends with Lord Uther. Now away with you!"

The argument continued between them, enough that a couple more guards were approaching them. However, Jaina's attention was caught by Falric who had tapped her shoulder and pointed at the apothecary.

"That's Putress."

"You know him?" Jaina asked.

"Yes. The man isn't lying. Tanya got him to work on a potential cure while we were in Brill. Though, that's still a far-fetched claim," Falric said, sounding skeptical.

Jaina was taken off guard by Falric's confession. Tanya had set someone to work on a cure? Say what you will about the priestess, but the girl was very learned for someone coming from the countryside. Tanya's reports tended to be precise and detailed, but why was there no mention of this in her earlier reports?

"Come, Falric," Jaina beckoned.

They made their way over, telling the guards to stand aside. The guards obliged, once they recognized who the two newcomers were.

"Lord Falric, it's you! Thanks for your—"

"You said you found a cure?" Jaina interrupted.

"I did. It was thanks to Lady Tanya and her faith in me, not to mention her suggestion of…never mind that. Suffice to say, I have found it." Putress pulled off his backpack, unzipped it, and reached into it. It took a moment before he pulled out a vial of red liquid and handed it over to Jaina. Carefully, she took it and uncorked it. Raising the tip up and smelling it, she almost immediately brought it away from her nose. It seemed very strongly of herbs, and that wasn't a pleasant smell.

"You've tested this?"

"I have. On twenty people…discreetly. All of them were cured, but I have run out of money for materials."

Jaina stared at the vial in her hand, gingerly putting the cork back in. For once, genuine respect for Tanya welled up inside of her. If this was actually the cure and not a hoax, then the Alliance would have much to thank Tanya for when she wakes up.

"Always one step ahead of me, aren't you…"

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Icura: I have been paying attention to my malapropisms because of what rovingpen said so I think I reduced my incidents of that to almost none. It's always good to keep improving, and it feels good too. These are reaction interludes, but the coming interludes will be of a different variety. We want to do another set of interludes that will have a different purpose so look forward to that.

Vahn (Vahnhammer): You wanted interludes? YOU GOT IT! What was that? You thought Tanya could spam city wide spells like that with ease? Could Thrall spam Earthquake in WC3? Could Arthas Spam Resurrection? Could Jaina spam mass teleport?! No! There is a cool down and penalty for using such high level spells. The bigger the spells the higher the cost. More interlude coming. You'd take it and like it!


	10. Interlude 2

Interlude 2

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

**Interlude: Thrall**

~o~

The orc shaman, Thrall, sat and waited in front of the crackling campfire with a tenseness that refused to leave him, no matter how much he tried to calm himself. Sitting by his side was the hammer gifted by Ogrim Doomhammer with his last breath, along with his black armor and the title of Warchief. Despite being the leader of the New Horde, he didn't really believe himself to be worthy of the position, but at the same time, he knew that Ogrim saw something in him. Even the Frostwolf Clan told him that they believed that his path would lead to greatness. For those reasons, he was driven to prove himself worthy of their expectations.

"Do not worry, young one." Even if it weren't for the gravelly voice, the sound of the heavy footsteps would have alerted him to the Tauren's presence. The Bloodhoof Chieftain, Cairne, was a hulking figure, large and muscular, in such a way that each step of his hoof sent miniature rumbles through the ground. Even walking as gently as he could, Cairne's footsteps were like stomps for a regular sized orc as he came to stand before the campfire. "In all of our dealings with the night elves, we have never known them to be unfair."

"Den where were dey when the centaurs be sieging ya?" The troll, Vol'jin, chieftain of the Darkspear tribe, was sitting on a log on the opposite side of the campfire from Thrall.

"Hiding in their forests like cowards." Sitting on another log was the orc blademaster, Grommash Hellscream, second-in-command of the New Horde.

"My Bloodhoof clan only trades with them. We do not interfere in each other's affairs."

"But to leave ya out to die? Dey a selfish race. Can't trust dem elves, mon," Vol'jin remarked. "We trolls been feudin' with dem for ages. Know dem all too well."

"We still must try," Thrall simply said, an answer that didn't sit well with the troll and the orc blademaster.

"Thrall, they're here," Grom muttered loudly and darkly.

Turning his head, Thrall saw a contingent of night elves leave the darkness of Ashenvale Forest. Even under the light of the moon, they were like shadows, flickering as if they would disappear in plain sight. They were muscular in comparison to the high elves on the eastern continent, having less of that frailty and more of a wild savageness. They were not as physically vulnerable as their cousins, but that didn't mean that there weren't similarities beyond just their pointy ears. Even from here, he could feel the disdain and mistrust rolling off of them as if they were permanent fixture of their existences. The only experiences that he could draw from were the very few times when he had met some high elves, and those times had been far from pleasant.

Grabbing his hammer, the Warchief of the New Horde rose to his feet, his fellow orcs following his action. Vol'jin and his trolls followed suit, though they remained slightly behind. They watched and glared at the arriving night elves who came to a stop a fair distance from them. The numbers on both sides were equal, and the bloodlust that rolled off of both sides was malevolence made manifest. There was no need for posturing as both sides were ready to fight to the death at a moment's notice.

"I greet you on behalf of the Horde and hope that we can attain peace," Thrall said as he stepped forward.

"Do savage beasts even know the meaning of that word?"

Grom growled and took a step forward, but Thrall held out an arm to stop him.

"Enough, Fandral." A female night elf moved out in front of her colleagues. "We came here at the behest of Cairne Bloodhoof."

"I would like to start off by saying that I regret what had transpired, and I apologize on behalf of my people," Thrall said. Grom made to growl, but Thrall silenced him with a glance.

"It doesn't seem like the rest of your companions agree."

"We have both suffered mutual losses in the skirmish," Thrall said. "It was misunderstandings that led to conflict which resulted in grudges. I hope to head off those grudges, to let time heal the wounds instead of deepening them."

"Wise words," the night elf woman commented. "Perhaps, you are right. Let us introduce ourselves. I am Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind and this…" She waved her hand at a male night elf with long green hair and an angular beard. "…is Archdruid Fandral Staghelm, and we speak for the Night Elves."

"Well met. I am Thrall of the Frostwolf clan, Warchief of the New Horde." The orc shaman patted his chest before he gestured to the orc blademaster beside him. "And this is my second-in-command, Grommash Hellscream of the Warsong clan. Again, we regret the unfortunate incident that had occurred between our people and hope you accept our most sincere apologies."

Thrall could practically feel the waves of dissatisfaction emanating off of Grom, and he could understand why. The Old Horde had not been one to back down to another race, no matter the cost. However, that had been under the influence of demonic blood; it was time for the Horde to learn a different way of solving problems than just through strength of arms.

"Hmm." Fandral clucked his tongue as he looked at them in distaste. "At least, you know you were in the wrong."

Thrall could feel the orcs bristled at the insult, many reaching for their weapons. Seeing this response, the night elves began backing away as they reached for their bows. However, a loud stomp shook the immediate area, causing all eyes to turn to Cairne Bloodhoof.

"Peace! Peace!" Cairne stepped between the two sides with hands held up. "Let us work through these troubles without bloodshed."

"Peace?" Fandral waved his hand at the orcs and trolls. "Look at them. They are tainted by the Fel, and worse, they consort with trolls!"

"They saved my clan when we were on the edge of extinction," Cairne replied. "And they did the same for the Darkspear trolls. The generosity that the young Warchief and his people has shown more than proves their nobility."

Before Fandral could retort to the Tauren, Thrall interjected himself into the conversation.

"The Fel taint is a curse that we bear; that is true," Thrall admitted. "But we are not our predecessors. We have broken free of the demons who had once enslaved us."

"Hmph." Fandral looked unconvinced, but the female night elf spoke up.

"Enough, Fandral." Tyrande gave a side glance to the Archdruid before she turned back to look at Thrall. Her eyes searched him for a moment before she nodded. "It takes a humble leader to admit their mistake, and a wiser one to apologize."

Her expression softened.

"Because of your words and actions today, we will regard the skirmish in Ashenvale as an unfortunate event and move past it."

Thrall was internally relieved, but he did not show it as he nodded.

"Thank you, Priestess and Archdruid, for your understanding and generosity."

Tyrande, for once, smiled and nodded. "Now, we were told about your intent. Here is a map of where our territory extends."

At her words, a female elf with a bow slung around her body moved up to the orc shaman and handed him a rolled up parchment. Thrall took it and opened it up, scanning the map drawn onto it. For a moment, he was stunned since what was displayed on the map showed that a full third of the continent was theirs. They even had significant holdings to the southwest. However, that didn't make much sense if he took what he had learned about the high elves from Grom and applied them here. The forces of the high elves had always been low in number, but the size of this territory made them seem closer in population size to the humans than their distant cousins. He closed the parchment up and handed it to a nearby orc. Drek'Thar, elder shaman of the Frostwolf clan and his teacher, would want to make copies later on.

"My thanks." Thrall inclined his head. "With this, it will help prevent any more unfortunate misunderstandings between our people."

Tyrande chuckled, having read his intentions. "I will send a message across our territories. If we find more of your people lost in our lands, we'll direct them to where you are."

"Again, you have my thanks." Thrall felt relieved now. While most were accounted for, there were still some missing.

"Now, on to your request and the main reason you tried to defile our sacred trees." Even though Tyrande spoke bluntly, there was no heat in her words, merely a statement of fact. Fandral sneered, but otherwise left the talking to her.

The Warchief stayed silent, allowing her to continue.

"Unfortunately, our method of obtaining lumber differs from you younger races," The Elune priestess said with a sigh. "We can give you more than what we trade to the Taurens, but we too have our own needs."

Thrall was conflicted. He knew how much Cairne's people receives, and from that, they were able to build strong, sturdy forts. Axes made from Ashenvale lumber had proven its quality when battle tested against the Quillboars and other races. However, his people outnumbered Cairne's by at least eight to one.

"Our people need wood to build our homes and ensure our survival. If we cannot build our shelters and light our campfires before the cold comes, many will suffer," Thrall said.

"Then maybe you should downsize them on the centaurs, outsider," Fandral mockingly retorted.

"Fandral! That was uncalled for." Tyrande turned and sent an apologetic gaze toward Thrall. "However, he does speak the truth. You and your people are outsiders to this land. We are under no obligation to feed or care for you. You must find another way on your own."

"You'd have us die for trees?!" Grom growled loudly and angrily, reaching for his axe at his waist. However, Thrall quickly grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Grom may be quick to anger, but he does have a point," Thrall said as he released his grip on Grom's wrist. "I have a responsibility to my people. We have been enslaved by demons and imprisoned unjustly by humans. When I escaped my slavemaster, I made a promise to myself that I would not allow my people to live like prisoners, languishing in squalor until death takes us. Never again."

For the first time in the whole meeting, Thrall's expression turned into a furious and vicious glare which he directed at Tyrande.

"If that is the only reason for justifying this, there will be war."

Tyrande's eyes narrowed.

"Do you really think you can win such a war?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Thrall answered flippantly. "But we will raze everything to the ground and fight to our last breath. This, I promise you."

Tensions heightened as a silence pervaded the area. Tyrande's gaze searched him, trying to find the cracks and underlying layers, but throughout the whole meeting, she had found him blunt and truthful without the layer of deceit that she was used to finding. Once that set in, she knew that he meant every word. It took another moment to fully realize the implications of those words. From the number of these outsiders that her scouts reported, a war between them would engulf at least half the forest in their domain.

However, she could not back down here.

"I return that sentiment back to you. Since the ancient times, we have protected the sacred forests from those who would murder the venerable trees for their own selfishness. You younger races expand recklessly, without regard for nature. Do you not understand the devastation you bring just by your kind's very presence?"

"Your disregard for the lives of species that are not your own is callous and heartless," Thrall said. "Where were you when the Bloodhoof clan needed your help?"

"We do not interfere in the affairs of the younger, lesser races. They live and die by their choices," Fandral replied condescendingly. "Many craven races have sought to challenge us over the centuries. None have survived."

"Say the word, Thrall!" Grom pulled out his axe and raised it toward the night elves. "And we will rip them apart like the weaklings they are!"

A part of Thrall sung to him to not let the slight go, but the more rational part of him realized that they were responding to the provocation just like how the Old Horde would have. So, with that in mind, he looked to Tyrande and held up a hand.

"Stand down, Grom," Thrall ordered. "I believe we are sparring with words, not with axes today. Is there no way you can grant us more lumber?"

"Thrall—" Grom began, but a held up fist quieted the orc.

Tyrande gave the orc warchief a long, hard stare before she too sighed.

"I will see what I can do. It won't be as much as you have asked for, but if you augment your lumber with the trees that are not in our territory, then perhaps it will be enough."

"I thank you for your generosity," Thrall replied. "I hope in time, our people could become friends and steadfast allies."

"May Elune's wisdom guide you, young shaman." With that said, Tyrande, Fandral, and their night elf contingent turned around and headed back to the forest. It wasn't long before they disappeared into the shadows of the tree line.

The moment that the night elves disappeared from sight, Grom turned to face Thrall.

"That was not how a proud orc should have spoken, Thrall. Not like some…some human!" Grom spat out the last part distastefully.

"Everyone, dismissed!" Thrall ordered in a firm voice as he looked at the people around him, even to his personal guards. Carine knew that the order was not intended for him, but the Tauren still tactfully took his people away as well.

The moment that everyone was far enough away, Thrall turned to his second-in-command.

"No, Grom. That was the Old Horde's method. We will not repeat their mistake." Seeing that Grom was not backing down, Thrall grabbed his shoulders and stared at him straight into his eyes. "I need you to promise me that you will ensure that this peace lasts. Our people finally have the chance to start all over again. We cannot squander this! I need you to tell me that you understand, Grommash Hellscream!"

The smaller orc looked conflicted just before something seemed to click in his head. He sighed tiredly.

"I…" Grom reached a hand up to my head. "I'm sorry, Thrall. It's just…we did not used to be like this… No, that's a lie. We used to trade with the Draenei. I had forgotten since it had been so long ago…"

Thrall blinked as Grom began muttering to himself. He felt concern for his friend, but whatever Grom was going through, he seemed to eventually shake himself out of it.

"You have my word, Thrall. Any warrior that breaks the peace, I'll kill them myself."

"We will forge a better future for our people."

~o~

**Interlude: Terenas**

~o~

King Terenas Menethil of Lordaeron took a look around the old room. It was sparsely furnished and decorated, only really containing a small table, a chair, a bookshelf, and a tall mirror. However, that was more than enough for its intended purpose. The host to a meeting of nations was expected to arrive last in order to begin the meeting in earnest. As such, generations of kings and queens had waited in this very room, storing their knowledge into these books so that their descendants could partake of their wisdom and ease their minds from the stress of the upcoming meeting.

The fact that many of these books were filled with awful nonsense and pitiful jokes was merely a consequence of those stressed minds and the need to have future generations understand their pain. In fact, during the Second War, he had written extensively into some of these very same books. It was his hope that his son, Arthas, would eventually read these books and understand the different sides that all rulers had to keep hidden at all costs. It was a harsh duty, but he was sure that his son was up to the challenge, same as when he himself was taught by his own father. He walked over to the bookshelf and took one of the hardcover tomes out. Cracking it open, he skimmed the messily written on page that he had randomly turned to.

It was worse than what he remembered it being. Or maybe his humor had left him in his old age. If this had not been a book written in by rulers starting from ages long past, he would have tossed the book out for the scavengers to play with.

"Do you think that Arthas will be a good ruler, Uther?" With the book still open in his hands, Terenas turned to his old friend.

"I do." Uther stepped into the room. "With some more time and experience."

"As a father, I'm still angry at you. You were supposed to be there to protect him," Terenas said. "But as a king, I know that even if you were there, there would have been nothing you could do. Four demons! Four demons had been hidden inside one of the strongest cities in Lordaeron along with an army of traitors and undead. The fact that they could hide an entire army shows how deeply they had infiltrated Lordaeron."

Uther stood in silence.

"I had given it much thought on what I would have done had I known about it. If young Jaina had arrived here and asked for that royal edict, I'd have granted it. I trust you to do what's right." Terenas shut the book with a snap. "I still do."

"I should have done more to stop Arthas…"

"You did all you could." The King looked pensive as he slid the book back into the bookshelf. "I want him to be safe, but I know his nature guides him towards danger."

"He has always been rushing ahead. Headstrong and stubborn, even when he was in training."

"That, he is. More prince than paladin," Terenas said before he turned to look at Uther. "He never did adopt your humility."

"Despite my best efforts."

"Yes. In spite of that," the King of Lordaeron chuckled softly before a resigned sigh escaped him. "Where is he now?"

"In Stratholme." Uther exhaled deeply, all of his regrets palpable. "The boy won't leave her bedside."

"Still? It's been more than three months."

"He owes her a great deal."

"I wonder if that's all it is," Terenas murmured. "How goes the cure distribution?"

"Most of our towns have received shipments. The Silver Hand and the Tirisfal Guards had been personally escorting the potions when available," Uther replied. "Your alchemists have not had any rest since this all began."

"And the shipments to our allies?"

"On their way."

"Very good." Terenas felt relieved. "Have all the guests arrived?"

"Yes. They're getting settled in."

"Then I shouldn't keep them waiting. We'll talk another time, old friend."

"As you wish, my king."

The two exited the room and walked down the small hallway. While there were a few torches to light the way, none were allowed in this location so there was no need for more. However, even a king could not go without protection so one guard was usually used, and in this case, it was Uther. However, the secret here was that a one-way passageway was hidden back in that waiting room. In the case that an assault ever made it this deep within the castle, the royal line could escape into the tunnels which would lead all the way to Brill.

Of course, it was only to be used as a last resort. That was because it was a secret tunnel that had been built in the ages of his ancestors, and as such, no one outside the royal family knew about it. The problem was that royalty couldn't be expected to maintain a tunnel themselves. There was thus too many unknowns. What if the tunnel had weakened from age and collapsed in mid-use? Death by being buried alive was therefore a very real risk, and that would be far worse than dying with a sword in his hand and a battle cry on his lips. Even if he had to send his son through there, he resolved never to use it himself.

At the end of the hallway, Uther pulled the door's lock to the side and pushed the door open. Inside the room, almost as one, the eyes of everyone seated at the round table turned toward the entering paladin. Behind him, Terenas stepped into view.

The council meeting room was a lavishly decorated room that had been used to display the grandeur of Lordaeron. For the sake of that tradition, King Terenas had kept and maintained it in that style, enough that it would have taken away the breath of the average noble. However, those in attendance now, the only ones allowed within this room at the moment besides Uther, were kings. They all stood when Terenas had entered out of respect, and they all sat when he had reached his chair.

At one point, it had been a rectangular table to display the dominance of Lordaeron, but during the Second War, he had it replaced for a round table. That was because in this room, there were only equals. It would be a lie to say that his ambitions did not include sitting at the head, but the conclusion of the Second War had shown him his folly. His judgment—or perhaps, misjudgment—had led to the fracturing of the Alliance, which had survived the brutal tests of the Orc Horde and the devastating betrayal of one of their own. Yet, now was not the time for regrets; that occasion had already come and pass many times within these two decades. No, it was the time to begin the meeting of kings, to determine the fate of their future.

To his left, starting clockwise around the table and the seats closest to him on that side, was the Ruler of Kul Tiras, Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore. He was dressed in a navy military uniform, crisp and immaculate, with the ornamental shoulder epaulettes that signified his high rank. His face was stoic and hard, but as Terenas's staunchest supporter, the King of Loraderon had known him long enough to see the underlying worry in his eyes. As Terenas had known, so had Daelin, about the rumors concerning the relationship between three individuals, one of whom included his daughter. His professionalism that was able to keep his emotions under control was a credit to his wisdom and experience. As a father, Terenas did not have to worry about his son's rather enviable position, but as a King, he had to wonder just what in the world his son was doing.

Next to him was Genn Greymane, the King of Gilneas. At one time, he had been one of the original founders of the Alliance, but he had always been stubborn, proud, cunning, and arrogant. As anyone could imagine, he was not well-liked. Even during the Second War, his contributions had been minimal with only submitting a token force to deal with the orcish Horde. After the end of the war, he had left the Alliance and isolated his nation by building a great wall. For him to even be here now was nearly a miracle, one that seemed inexplicable since no news could leave the great wall. However, something must have happened to force him to attend this meeting, and Terenas had a feeling that the reason would be made visible soon enough.

After him was the person who Terenas considered as a son equal to his own true-born children. Varian Wrynn—the King of Stormwind—sat with a relaxed posture in his seat. He had an easy smile and was making small conversations with the other kings, sometimes even getting the rival kingdoms to laugh at one another. Yet, despite his easy going nature and how charming he was being at the table, Terenas knew the steel that was inside of the boy, forged in the ashes of his destroyed home. It was a wonder he turned out so well, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would become the epitome of what a king was meant to be. Because of that, Varian had married young for political reasons, and his wife was killed a short couple of years later, leaving him with only his infant son, Anduin. That newborn had grown into a fine boy who was now frolicking about the capital city with his guards and a tour guide. In time, the boy too would become a warrior of renown. Battle had always been a part of the Wrynn bloodline, and it showed its mark clearly on Varian. The years of fighting the remnant orcs and trolls had taken its toll on him, even young as he was. As much as Terenas wanted to coddle the boy, Varian was a king and needed to be treated as such, or at least in public. Despite that, there was no question as to where his loyalty lied.

The next person at the table was Thoras Trollbane, the Warrior King of Stromgarde. As Terenas's nation had been one that focused on the Light, Thoras's Stromgarde glorified the warrior lifestyle to the fullest. His nation was filled with fighters who were the best warriors on the entire continent, able to enforced their power through strength of arms. They had been one of the core components of the Alliance and their departure from the Alliance at the end of the Second War had put an end to Terenas's ambitions. Even then, Terenas still considered Thoras to be a friend, no matter the disagreements between them that had led to the fracturing of the Alliance. Powerful, honest, determined, blunt, and straightforward. If Stromgarde were to return, there would be no greater gift.

Directly across the table from him was the Representative of Dalaran and a member of the Council of Six, Antonidas. With a scalp that bore no hair and a long snow-colored beard, he was the oldest man in the room. He wore a majestic robe that was inscribed with magical runes and had a staff of gnarled wood within his grasp that he had used more as a walking cane than a weapon. While Terenas had sparsely talked with the man, he knew much about him. He was a powerful mage of great influence, and he was the teacher of Jaina Proudmoore. The power and wisdom that seemed to radiate off of him as a natural aura placed him on an equal footing with the royals around him, despite not being a king himself.

Adjacent to him was Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider of Quel'Thalas, the High Elven Kingdom to the north. Truthfully, it should had been his father here, King Anasterian Sunstrider, but it seemed that animosity still remained even after they had left the Alliance at the end of the Second War. On the other hand, his son, Kael'thas, was a strange one. Despite being the prince of the high elves, he was a student of Dalaran, and he held a well-documented compassion towards humanity. While Terenas was hopeful of some concessions to the high elves' isolationist policy, it was a bit of a far-fetched hope. It wasn't strange for Kael'thas to come, but it was of the utmost strangeness that he had come as a representative of Quel'Thalas. Just like with Gilneas, something must have happened in their kingdom to bring them back to the table.

There were two remaining seats to his right, and the furthest one held the King of the Dwarven Kingdom of Khaz Modan, Magni Bronzebeard. Wearing a heavy suit of armor made of precious metals, he sat heavily on the custom seat that Terenas had ordered to be made for him to deal with his height and weight issue. The dense muscles of his body was heavy enough that a regular seat would have easily broken apart the moment he sat on it, especially with the weight of his gear that really had no reason to be worn in such a safe location. Still, it did make him look very impressive since Dwarven craftsmanship was renowned for a reason. Being a staunch supporter of the Alliance, Terenas knew that he could count on the dwarf to side with him on issues that mattered.

The closest seat on his right was a custom seat as well, though it dealt mostly with the height issue. Sitting on it was the High Tinker of Gnomeregan, Gelbin Mekkatorque. As the name implied, he was the leader of the Gnomes, or rather, he was the self-styled "King of Gnomes" since he was technically an elected official. Still, his popularity had allowed him to remain in control throughout all these long years. They were closely allied with the dwarves, and as such, they were also great supporters of the Alliance. Their inventions were groundbreaking, though they were often dangerous as well. While Terenas wasn't willing to test their invention himself, the safer ones had revolutionized certain industries enough that they had become somewhat integral in keeping the economy going. Their importance should not be understated, despite what many others perceived them to be due to their diminutive size and gentler nature than their dwarven counterpart.

Thus, it was here that Terenas took his seat, closing his eyes as he did so. When he opened them, there was only hardness that came with being the Head of the Alliance.

"I won't waste time on introductions. We all know each other here."

There was a round of nods, no one bothering to interrupt at this stage. Just as well, for what he had to say was extensive.

"Ever since the attack on Stratholme, there had been numerous smaller attacks across the entire continent of Lordaeron. You had all answered my call to bring this meeting to fruition, and for that, I thank you," Terenas said solemnly.

"You may have come for your own reasons, but regardless of that, you still came. The threat that plagues us, that threatens to bring all of the kingdoms down to their knees, has spent years infiltrating our land and people. They have brought instability, chaos, and deaths in their wake. I believe you all understand what I'm talking about, but you do not understand the true extent of this problem."

There was shifting motions from the other kings who were now leaning forward.

"As you know, the Inquisition and Tirisfal Guard had been formed to obtain information, and they had slowly pieced together the puzzle from both evidence and confession."

Terenas slowly looked around the room, meeting each of the kings' eyes. It was only when he was done that he continued.

"A being self-styled as the "Lich King" had been the perpetrator behind the numerous small-scaled assaults against our land and people. With promises of eternity in undeath, they wage war on us in bits and pieces, slowly crumbling us from the inside. My organizations have purged traitors all across Lordaeron, but this internal war is endless, and it's disheartening."

There were hushed mumbles and murmurs from the assembled people, but they quickly quieted down.

"Thankfully, crucial information on our enemy has been discovered by Dalaran. Antonidas, if you please."

"Of course, King Terenas." The old mage slowly rose from his seat, the legs of his chair squeaking as it slid back across the stone floor. He stood at full height, using one hand on his staff to hold himself up.

"As some of you may be aware, a radiance of power had erupted from Northrend in the aftermath of Stratholme. It was Fel in origin so we suspect that a surviving group of Orc Warlocks or Death Knights are consolidating power in the distant continent of Northrend, which would explain why demons had summoned once more into Azeroth."

At this point, all of the Kings were anxious and vibrated with things that they wanted to say, but Antonidas continued over them.

"If you please calm yourselves, my kings, for what I have to say isn't over. Or rather, what I have to show you." Antonidas took out a purple glass sphere from the pocket of his robe and placed it heavily onto the table.

"This is the last message we received from those we sent to survey the threat in Northrend."

Mana flowed from his fingertip and into the sphere, causing it to flash with light. A holographic image, enlarged greatly, sprouted from the orb, causing everyone to look up at the scene displayed. There was a mage running, his face filling the screen. There was obviously fear on his face.

_"Everyone… Everyone is dead! Oh, oh… I… I can't. They're everywhere."_

The scene swiveled to show a snow-covered valley, but there were thousands of undead filling the landscape, as if it was blotting out the white with their blackened bodies. A sea of dark where the snow could scarcely be seen. Even seeing it again, Terenas couldn't help the shiver that went up the back of his spine.

_"I can't teleport out! There's some kind of…some kind of sinister magic blocking me. Wait, what's that?!"_

The scene moved upward to where a wyrm composed of only bone and blue light was flying through the air. A massive blue light began building up in its maw, visible since there was no flesh to cover it up. As it flew lower, it opened its mouth and unleashed a torrent of blue flames that strafed across the unseen land below. The screen shook as screams rang out, but from where it came from, that wasn't shown.

_"This is a full-scale invasion! We—We have to escape. I have to escape. I got to… I got… No!"_

The ground underneath him shook as the screen turned downward, just before a large, monstrous-looking bug erupted from the snow and a pincer jabbed slightly above the screen. A spray of blood stained the image as the screen fell to ground-level and rolled, spinning the view. However, in its rotation, what could be seen was that the spidery bug had pierced through the mage's head, breaking it apart into chunks. The spinning came to a stop, its viewpoint staying on the large bug ripping into the corpse. It paused and looked up, seeming to realize that it was being watched. The spider-like creature crawled speedily toward the screen and swung its pincer downward, just before the screen blacked out and the recording ended.

Genn slammed his hands on the table, rising to his feet. He pointed an accusing finger at the Terenas.

"I told you, Terenas! I told you to execute those filthy animals to the last, but you showed mercy. Now, you reap what you sowed!"

Thoras Trollbane folded his hands in front of his chest, glaring in Terenas's direction. There was no doubt on who he sided with, even with his trouble history with Gilneas.

"At least, now we know where those orcs who escaped from the internment camps have fled to," Daelin commented. Even though they were friends and close allies, the Lord Admiral didn't look very happy as he stared at the King of Lordaeron.

As for Terenas, he could only silently take the criticism.

"I think that is enough. King Terenas did the best he could, at the time." Varian stood up from his seat, the only calm voice to speak thus far. "I doubt anyone here could have done better."

Kael'thas stood up as well.

"There's no doubt that my father would have kept Quel'Thalas in the Alliance if the orcs had been done away with. However, it is my opinion—not as a representative of fellow high elves but my very own—that if I was given the choice between murder and imprisonment, I would have chosen to imprison them.

"Aye," Magni Bronzebeard stood up on top of his chair. "Just because it be cheaper doesn't make genocide right."

Gelbin Mekkatorque gave a nod.

"Thank you," Terenas said. "But the choices that I had made may have resulted in this crisis. If the time comes for me to take responsibility for my decisions, I will not complain. Now, Antonidas, please continue."

"Yes." Antonidas coughed to clear his throat. "Now where was I? Ah, yes, Northrend. The mages that I had sent were skilled—quite skilled indeed—but they all been killed right down to the last man and woman. Yet, we must look at it from a different perspective. This is a show of force. The Inquisition and the Tirisfal Guard had scourged…"

Antonidas gave a rueful chuckle.

"…much of their presence from Lordaeron. You must remember that they lost control in the aftermath of Stratholme and exposed themselves prematurely. The attacks afterwards were mainly to distract us, and their massed defense of Northrend was to discourage us from heading there. That means that this Lich King of theirs is not yet confident in his strength. I therefore believe that the best course of action is to go to Northrend and scatter them before they can consolidate their power."

There were a few moments of silence as the kings took in the information.

"No." Genn shook his head, his anger still visible. "We should let the undead come to us and then we can crush them on our own terms."

"I second this." Thoras's agreement came as a surprise, especially if one considered their history.

Kael'thas sighed. "Unlike with all of your lands, Quel'Thalas had not suffered from any undead or cultist attacks. My father had said that this situation was of King Terenas's making, and that it was a…human problem. Still, rest assured that no undead assault will be coming from Quel'Thalas into Eastweald. We will also not stop any high elves from volunteering."

For a moment, an expression of shame came to the high elf's face, but it was quickly covered up.

"I had been briefed on all of this from Antonidas beforehand," Terenas said. "So I believe that an assault on Northrend is in all of our best interests. To that end, I am prepared to commit three Legions to the effort. The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Legion."

"Even if you manlings don't go, I got to. I haven't heard from my brother, Muradin, in months. Last message I got from him had him out exploring Northrend, but I'm afraid he be caught up in all this nonsense," Magni said. "The 5th Legion will have yer back, Menethil. To make sure nothing goes wrong, I'll send out a brigade of Bronzebeard dwarves as well. There's nothing a hammer can't solve."

The rest of the kings' gazes soon settled on Mekkatorque who looked as if he was trying to say something difficult. After awhile, he finally spoke up.

"I can provide siege weapons, flying machines, submarines, and munitions, but…" Gelbin Mekkatorque looked as if he swallowed something bad. "I can't provide any forces."

Magni stared at the gnome with an expression of surprise.

"Is everything alright?" Terenas asked curiously. Something felt off, but the gnomes had always honest to a fault. Sometimes too honest.

"Of course." Gelbin Mekkatorque laughed, though it seemed like a frayed one. "Everything's fine. We're just lacking a bit in soldiers."

While many of the kings were likewise curious, this wasn't a matter that they could ask about. It wasn't like they were doing nothing; the gnomes were still contributing supplies even if they weren't sending out troops.

"I will send the 7th Legion," Varian said.

"No," Terenas said. "We will keep the 4th and 7th Legion in reserve until we secure a foothold."

"Since the 6th Legion is still being rebuilt after the orcs robbed them of their ship, the Kul Tiras navy will be the fleet to ferry the Legions across and provide whatever support we can from the sea," Daelin said. "Now that we know where the orcs took those ships, I think we'll be in for a sea fight. The combined might of Kul Tiras and Alliance ships will be able to sink them into the sea."

Everyone looked toward the kings of Gilneas and Stromgarde.

"Fine," Genn groused. "It looks like this threat is bigger than I thought. I'm focusing on my own defense, but I'll send one brigade."

"I cannot send much so I too shall only send a single brigade," Thoras said. "Ogres, orcs, and bandits infest my lands. I cannot send more without showing weakness, for they will bite deeper if I do."

"I can send a brigade of Stormwind soldiers to help stabilize your land in Stromgarde," Varian offered.

"If I need a brigade, I'll take my own back," Thoras replied. "But your offer is appreciated."

Varian smiled easily, not embarrassed in the least, and nodded in return.

There were more discussion on the forces that they were amassing, but Terenas was simply staring at Varian. He was proud of the man that Varian had become, and a part of him regretted not being able to marry him to Calia. It was far too late now, but that was simply one of many regrets throughout his lifetime. As he looked upon the other kings talking amongst themselves, hope blossomed in his heart that this could be the start of a new beginning for the Alliance.

A start that his son could one day take a hold of and bring to fruition the ambition that Terenas had once dreamed of.

~o~

**Interlude: Arthas**

~o~

Even as deep within this building as he was, Arthas Menethil heard the bells ring loud and clear, signaling that the last of the 1st Legion had arrived. As the city with the largest port in Lordaeron, Stratholme had become the staging point from which the invasion of Northrend was being launched from. Kul Tiras ships were constantly entering the harbor, picking up soldiers and volunteers, and leaving for Northrend. Even after most of the warships were sent on their way, this city would remain an important supply route to send reinforcements and resources to the distant northern continent.

It was almost time for him to go as well, even though that meant leave her behind. From his desk, he turned his gaze to the bed that held the savior of Stratholme. Wrapped in a blanket of the finest fur with her head lying on a pillow filled with the softest feathers, the blond-haired girl had stayed like that for four months. Many feared that she would sleep forever, and that was a reasonable enough worry given the amount of Holy magic she had used on that day.

Still, Arthas liked to think that he would be there when she woke up, even with how little of a chance it was.

There was a knock on the door.

"My prince?" There was no doubt that was Falric's voice. Not that there was much reason to doubt; only a few people had access this deep within the secured fort. "The time draws near."

"I will be out soon."

There was not much that he could do at this point. He had delayed his leaving by as long as he could.

Arthas sighed. On the great oak desk in front of him was tome that was opened up, such that half of its pages laid on either side. The hardcover of the tome ensured that it kept the tome open, and on the pages displayed was cursive writing. Next to the book was a nearly empty ink bottle, one of many. In truth, it had merely started as a way to pass the time, but as these books tended to do, it tempted him. Instead of nonsensical writing, it had become a journal, a recording of his thoughts and feelings. The burdens that plagued him in these quiet times were lessened by the mere act of putting the inked quill to paper.

He reached forward to the empty page and promptly tore it out. Placing the torn page on the table, he moved the ink bottle on top of it to hold it in place. As the future King of Lordaeron, he could never show the pages of this tome to anyone. Indeed, as he attached the tome next to his paladin spell tome on his waist, he made a mental note to burn it when he had the chance. There would be no time for writing in the future as even his downtime needed to be used for training and rest; he had neglected his training in these last four months.

A week after Stratholme, Arthas had a spar with his trusted captains. Normally, he could have taken on Marwyn and Falric, but his worries and guilt had eaten away at him. At the moment of striking, he remembered the head that he had smashed, and that memory had made him hesitated. That had been more than enough for Falric to cut into his waist. They expected him to heal the wound immediately with a healing spell, but when he had only kept his hand on the wound to stem the bleeding, they became worried. Eventually, he had made the spell work. They had thought that he was dazed by his defeat, and he had not contradicted that idea even though it wasn't the truth of the matter. The fact was that he had actually been trying to cast the spell the entire time.

Sighing deeply, Arthas leaned back in his chair as he felt the familiar connection to the Light flow through him.

It had taken months to reach the point where he could once again trust his usage of Holy magic in battle, but the Light never seemed to come so simply—so easily—as when he was in Tanya's presence. Months ago, he had thought that the Light was abandoning him or punishing him, but when he was in the same room with this girl, it seemed to come just as easily as it once had. No, it came even easier than back then. He had never been the strongest in the Light, and that had been telling by the treatment of the more veteran Silver Hand Paladins. He knew that they thought of him as a spoiled prince unworthy of being a part of the Silver Hand, but Uther had given him the chance, and he had worked hard to change their perception.

It never did change, though. Stratholme was, in part, a validation of their stubborn opinions. Even now, some of the more vocal members clamored to evict him from the Knights of the Silver Hand. As such, he could hardly ask for their help for this particular problem of his. The only one that he could have turned to for advice was Uther, and that relationship was currently under strain. The older paladin had made some overtures to him, but Arthas had turned him away out of shame for what he had done. Even though Tanya had undone much of the deaths, a hundred souls remained corpses due to excessive damage to their bodies.

A hundred permanently dead by his hands or his orders.

It was not hard to figure out that it—or the guilt associated with it—was the reason for his troubles with the Light, even though his decision at the time had not been wrong. Perhaps, he had thought, Tanya's presence was what was staving off the guilt. Building off that notion, he had slowly worked through these months to regain his paladin abilities. It still had some delays in the casting, but even that should be taken care of within a month or two. Preferably a month since he would be in battle by then.

"Arthas?" A soft feminine voice made herself known. Arthas's connection to the light broke as he turned his gaze to the speaker. Deep and complicated emotions tumbled around in his chest, even though he already knew this meeting was coming. He had been anticipating it for a while now.

Clad in the familiar cloak of the Kirin Tor, Jaina Proudmoore wore a top that emphasized her bosom and pants that hugged her legs' outline. It was not a surprise that the sorceress turned heads wherever she went now, even with her slightly disheveled look.

"Jaina." Arthas voice came out harsh, not at all in the way he intended.

Jaina recoiled a bit, making Arthas feel that much worse.

He had wanted to greet her as before, like old friends. However, it was difficult to keep his emotions in check. The happy memories of their times together were tainted by recent events, making him feel more conflicted than ever, even though he knew that the fault ultimately was his own. She had not been in the wrong just as he had not been in the wrong, but the fact that she went against him had pierced deeply. It was only now, as he looked at her—really looked at her—that he saw that it wasn't only him that had been afraid of facing the issue. She was afraid as well. That, if anything, made it a little easier to get a grip on what he should do.

"Jaina," Arthas said in a far softer voice, though he knew that the damage had already been done. Nevertheless, he continued with a hopeful tone. "Is there something that you want to talk to me about?"

"Yes…" Jaina hesitantly began. "The Kirin Tor…have decided that I need more experience in magical combat so I have been given the order to go to Northrend. They will be sending a capable Archmage and a retinue of battle mages to take over as Lady Tanya's guards."

"Oh," Arthas murmured. Disappointment flavored his response, but he had been expecting different words that could have possibly provided a resolution. Still, if she was going to Northrend, there would be time for that later. "Who are you assigned to?"

"Lord Fordragon of the 1st Legion," Jaina answered.

"I have also been ordered by my father to work with Lord Fordragon," Arthas said, surprising Jaina.

After what the First Legion did, their reputation had taken a hit despite his father's pardon. The citizenry were taking a wide berth, while many of the other Legions were lurking to take away their prestige as the first among equals. However, it was not all dark. Varian had his most trusted general, Bolvar Fordragon, take over the First Legion in order to waylay criticism and to support him. A better brother to him, there was none, especially in comparison to those from the Silver Hand.

"Then...I look forward to working with you again, Jaina," Arthas softly told her as he looked at her. "It's a shame that you are leaving Tanya's side since there are no better sorceress in all of Dalaran."

Jaina smiled at the compliment. "Well, she won't be getting a sorceress this time but a sorcerer instead."

"Oh?" Arthas grinned, the familiar pattern asserting itself between them. "Anyone I know?"

"It's Prince Kael'Thas," Jaina said and saw Arthas's smile froze on his face. She quickly made to reassure him. "Don't worry, Arthas. He's one of the best mages in all of Dalaran. Tanya will be in good hands."

Arthas felt a very familiar unpleasant sensation bubbling up inside of him. This was the very same elf who had pursued Jaina and now, he will be taking care of Tanya? Arthas knew that high elves were considered by many to be nearly flawless and in truth, he sometimes wondered how he got Jaina to take notice of him while the Elven prince had been clearly trying to court her. Now, this very same prince would be taking care of Tanya.

Arthas saw Jaina look at him with a worried expression. Did his emotions show in his face? He wiped the slate clean, but it was already too late. An awkward air entered the space between them. Jaina pulled her cloak closer to herself.

"Well…I best get ready…" Jaina forlornly said. "I'll see you on the ship."

Before Arthas could reply, Jaina turned and quickly left the room. He stared at the space where she had been standing for a long while, unsure of what to feel. He had thought that he had dealt with his turbulent emotions by writing about it in his book, but instead of being cleansed, the wound had festered in his optimism and arrogance. At this point, he had almost become afraid of bringing up the issue, knowing that to do so would be to chance on losing control. As much as he had been marred, he did not want to lose what was left between them. However large or small that was.

He closed his eyes. If this had been months before, he would have shot out of the room and chased after her. Selfish and self-absorbed. His world had revolved around himself, the hero in the legend. A hero that was supposed to be powerful, magnificent, and righteous. It was no less than ideal, and that ideal had always been Varian Wrynn.

He had dreamed of standing on that same pedestal as the man who he considered as his brother. Even now, he still dreamed of it. However, there had been a lot of time to think and to self-reflect in these past four months. It had come with realizations, big and small, true and false.

To become his ideal, he had to kill his sense of self. He had to end his heart.

Was he ready to do such a thing?

It took only a moment to find his answer.

No, he wasn't. Not yet at least.

He heard a stirring. Opening his eyes, he opened his mouth to speak words of apologies, to clear the tense air between them. Words that died the moment he realized what he was seeing.

Tanya, in a white robe, was sitting up and stretching out her arms as if she was simply waking up from a nap. With her arms extended, she let out a loud yawn with her mouth wide open.

"Tanya?" Arthas whispered disbelievingly. To his completely amazement, the woman before him stiffened and turned to him. Her face quickly paled and then became red.

"Prince Arthas?!" Tanya squeaked out in utter and complete shock. "W-What are you doing here?!"

"Watching over you," Arthas answered numbly, not quite believing what he was seeing. "What is the last thing that you remember?"

"The last thing…? It was a light and then…" Tanya's eyes widened and a ferocious expression overtook her, causing Arthas to reel away in shock. "DAMN YOU, BEING X!"

She threw off the blanket, rolling off the bed and onto her feet. Or at least, she tried to. She stumbled the moment her foot touched the ground, but the prince quickly caught her in his arms. Even then, she struggled in his grasp, forcing him to hug her tighter.

"It's okay. It's okay." Despite his words, she seemed to struggle harder, wiggling this way and that as if she was a snake.

"That bastard manipulated everything right from the start!"

"Tanya. Tanya. It's okay," Arthas said, hiding his surprise that she knew, but it made sense in a way. "I already know."

Her arms froze in his grasp.

"You do…?"

"I'm surprised that you know as well, but you must have sensed his gaze at Stratholme. Don't worry, I hate him as much as you do," Arthas replied as he slowly loosened his hold. "Everyone does."

"…you have seen him?"

"No, but his deeds have created many scars in this land. In the time you were asleep, knowledge of him has spread across the entirety of Lordaeron."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Four months," Arthas said, taking a step back to give her space. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"We were in Stratholme and then…I…" Tanya swallowed her saliva. "Did I really cure them?"

"You did," he said. "For all of Lordaeron."

"What?!" Tanya looked shocked. "It extended that far?!"

Arthas burst out laughing. The last time that he had such a carefree laugh was months ago, before all of this had begun. As for Tanya, she looked disgruntled even though she still waited patiently for him to finish.

"My apologies," he finally said with a small, remnant smile. "No, it wasn't just you alone. Putress's cure worked, and that has already been distributed to the furthest reaches of the continent."

"Really? He found a cure that fast?"

"Yes." Arthas nodded. "And he has credited all of his work to you."

"M-me?" Tanya looked bewildered. "But I only financed him."

"It was your sage advice that led him to the cure," he said. "You need to be a little less humble."

"That's not—" Before she could say more, the sound of a loud and distant bell ringing could be heard. "What is that?"

There was a knock on the door.

"Prince Arthas." Falric's voice could be heard though the shut door. "It's time."

"Time?" Tanya asked, looking at Arthas.

"The Legions are heading to Northrend to hunt down Being X, and I am going with them." Arthas held out his hand to her. "Will you follow me once more, Tanya?"

"Are…" There was a strange glint in her eyes as she looked down at his extended hand. "Are you really hunting down Being X?"

"I am a prince of my word."

Tanya stared at his hand a moment more before she looked up at him. He could see the emotions playing through her eyes before it settled on one that seemed oddly like malicious glee.

"I'll follow you to the end of the earth, Prince Arthas! You can count on me!" Tanya grabbed his hand and shook it in a handshake. With her other hand, she gave off a sharp salute.

Arthas felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he retracted his hand.

"You seem to be healthy already, but we will have a healer make sure," he said. "Time is short so after that, we'll head out within the hour."

"Yes, my lord!"

"I'll send for the healer and a chef. You must be hungry." Arthas walked over to the door and opened it. Just outside the door were his two captains, Falric and Marwyn, both of whom were smiling. He returned their smile. He took a step forward before he remembered something.

"Oh, and one last thing," Arthas said as he glanced over his shoulder back at Tanya. "The one you call Being X has already given himself a name. He calls himself the Lich King."

With that said, Arthas closed the door, missing Tanya's last words.

"Wait, what?"

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Icura: Wow, a lot of things have happened in this past week. IndirectFire made a new spin-off series with Tanya reincarnating into Starcraft, though I believe that it only available on the Spacebattles forum and not on ffnet at the moment. It's still in the early stages, but it seems very promising. It's called The Chronicles of Colonial-Magistrate Tanya. Anyways, this chapter was a bit difficult to write since I had to do a lot of research to get the personalities down for so many different people. It took quite a bit of time and effort.

Vahn (Vahnhammer): What's this? That's not how the Legion works in WoW? Well to me, I had a hard time swallowing the whole lore explanations that each Legion was only formed after the last one was destroyed. No, I choose to head cannon that there were seven Legions to begin with. They are like marines to the standard navy army and airforce. The career soldiers that are the army of the Alliance and not respective to each kingdom. I like to think that whatever kingdom a Legion is in, it would be that kingdom responsibility to upkeep them, but the Legion is the Alliance's army. Naturally, each kingdom have their own army too we have seen this in WoW. Think of the Legion as Federal forces while the kingdoms have their own local law enforcement. Legions can cross kingdoms line and jurisdiction. Kingdoms have to request if they wants to move their forces through other territories though. So 7th is Stormwind's.


	11. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

At least it didn't feel like I needed to puke. I was worried that that the months that I had spent in a coma had shriveled my stomach—since they probably fed me just porridge—but my appetite was fine and my capacity to hold it within me exceeded my expectations. I would say that it was good to eat after this long, but it honestly didn't feel that long since I had been asleep for the whole thing. No, what was bothering me was how bright the room was.

There were many things that could be said about mage lights, but their usefulness couldn't be understated. They were the magical equivalent of electricity-powered light bulbs, able to provide an adequate enough source of light to illuminate an area. However, they weren't very long-lasting, requiring a replenishment of its mana source every few days and maintenance every two weeks. They were thus expensive to own and maintain.

Naturally, I had four of them illuminating this very room. They were enough that this windowless room positioned deep within the fort almost seemed as bright as being under a hot summer sun. Naturally, I got around to turning off two of them.

Walking back in front of the tall dressing mirror, I took in my form once again, though this time in a not so glaringly bright environment. It was essential to know one's own body, and the figure that was reflected in the glass—while recognizable—was not really that familiar. I had grown taller. Some would say that this was just a very late puberty spurt, that people didn't stop growing until at least their thirties, but this was different. Besides being taller, certain areas had been filled out more, and my muscles felt denser. My skin had no blemishes anymore, and any kind of scarring that I had from my rougher earlier years were gone, replaced by a skin tone that was a shade paler and almost seemed like it had a luminous glow to it. Not the kind where I would glow in the dark, but the sort where the mage light reflected off of it, giving it a sort of natural glossy sheen. I wasn't sure what to think of that, but at the very least, I felt healthier than I had been before my coma.

The clothes that they had given me were a tight fit, making a relatively conservative dress more scandalous than it should have been. It was probably based around my physique months ago, and I couldn't blame them since nobody—least of all me—expected that I would grow so much at my age. I was tempted to send back the clothes for adjustment, but there was not enough time. Besides having enough runes weaved into the fabric to be considered extravagant, this uniform was of the highest quality and obviously took weeks if not months to complete. Any adjustment or tailoring to it would take just as long. While it was true that I had grown, it was still within an acceptable range where the clothes still fit and weren't bursting at the seams. While it was tighter than it should have been, the material was elastic enough that it wasn't restrictive to any of my movements or motions.

To describe it, it was a sleeveless and legless white leotard with the symbol of the sun displayed prominently over the front. It had strips of cloth that hung from the front and back of my waist, providing some coverage. The gold and black stockings should have extended all the way up to at least my mid-thigh, but the incorrect measurements made it only just above my knees. That similarly applied to what was supposed to be my arm-length gloves. There were a couple of moderately sized golden shoulder pauldrons, of which their purpose I wasn't even sure of. It also came with a white hat with golden outlines that seemed more in the style of an extravagant admiral hat than anything a cleric should be wearing.

More importantly, I was avoiding the issue.

Placing my hand to the left side of my chest, I could feel the subtle shifting of gears. Precisely because I knew of the operational orb's existence, I couldn't mistake it as heartbeats no matter how much I wanted to. It had in-fact replaced my heartbeats entirely. Had my heart become the Type 95 or was it completely replaced? How was I even still alive? I had a full list of questions, but the only way to know the answer to most of them was to perform a vivisection on my own chest and look at my heart in the mirror, something that I wasn't willing to do for obvious reasons, even though it was technically possible with healing magic as long. Self-inflicted mutilation was something that any reasonable person would cringe at, not to mention that I would have to constantly re-widen the wound to keep it open. It would be easier to have someone else do it for me, but that was an extremely dangerous risk. The Dwarven Dragon Slayers had turned a dragon's heart into an artifact; I had no doubt that they or someone else could do the same to mine.

"Damn you, Being X," I said through gritted teeth, as if it would make everything better. It didn't. As groggy as I had been upon awakening, I shouldn't have been so stupid. I should have seen the trap for what it was, but I was so much in a daze that I didn't. Now, I only had myself to blame. If only I had been more diligent. If only… If only…!

I saw the expression on my face in the mirror twisting into an angry grimace.

It could only have been the machinations of Being X. Why else would I wake up on the day that the last warships were to leave? If it had been earlier, Arthas would have given me time to rest before asking that question. If it had been later after they left, I would probably have received a letter after news got out about my recovery. In both cases, I wouldn't have been so dazed from awakening that I would make such a terrible mistake. If that wasn't Being X's doing, then I didn't know what was.

Still, it was salvageable. I had only promised to help fight this Lich King who was the cause of the attack on Stratholme, but this time, it wasn't going to be just a one battle-group. There were actual armies being sent to Northrend. So with that kind of logistics, they would probably keep their most valuable healers in the back lines to prevent them from being killed. Therefore, while this northern continent would undoubtedly be as cold or colder than Norden or the Federation, I would probably be spending most of my time healing wounded soldiers at a comfortably warm base. It would only be a matter of time before the Lich King was dealt with, and then I would be sent back in Lordaeron with a bundle of free merits under my name. It was almost like giving me achievements for absolutely nothing. I just had to show a sufficient amount of fervent loyalty to cement my status.

I just had to keep an eye out for Being X's interventions.

There was a knock on the door.

"Lady Tanya, it's time."

"I'll be a moment." I took the cloak laid out on a nearby chair and wrapped it around me, making sure to flip up the hood. Walking over to the door, I turned the doorknob and pulled to open to see a Falric waiting patiently. The moment that he saw me, he shook his head.

"You won't be needing the cloak."

"Why's that?"

"You'll see."

~o~

My right eye twitched as I stepped down the stairway from the fort. As far as I could see, lining the sides of the cobblestone street were crowds of civilians. The middle of the street was completely empty, a straight path all the way to the harbor in the distance. The path was maintained by a single line of soldiers on each side, but even they were strained to hold back the crowd as they began to push when they spotted me. It wasn't like they were intention pressing at the guards, but when those in the middle and back leaned forward to get a better view, they pushed against the people in the front, causing a wave-like effect to spread through the crowd. In spite of that, a wildly happy mood overtook the populace. Cheers rose crazily and a storm of flower petals whipped out all around me. I made my way down the steps as the excitement became heightened.

Standing at the bottom was Marwyn, holding onto the reins of a white horse. He looked neutral and stoic, though I could see his eyes waver slightly at the sight of me. I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I didn't have time to contemplate as Falric patted my back, reminding me to keep moving. As I reached Marwyn, I spoke some words, but when I realized the cheering was too loud for him to hear me, I came closer to him.

"Where's Prince Arthas?"

"At the docks, overlooking the last preparations," Marwyn said. "The Prince felt that his presence would ruin the atmosphere."

"Why are there so many? It wasn't that long ago since I woke up."

"You underestimate your own popularity." He shrugged his shoulders. "We should be going. The Prince is waiting."

I didn't need any more prompting. Falric helped me mount the horse while Marwyn kept the horse steady. Not that Marwyn had to expend much effort; it was definitely not a warhorse, looking too well-groomed and well-cared for to be of that variety. I suspected that even if Marwyn wasn't leading the horse by the reins, it would still be a gentle ride.

I was quickly surrounded by guards and some members of the church, but since I was the only one on horseback, I became the focus of everyone's gaze. The guards formed a ring around me with the clerics trailing slightly behind as Marwyn led the horse slowly enough that I could hardly feel any bumpiness.

I had been in military parades before, but this was hardly one. This was more of a procession than anything else, and while they didn't tell me how I had to act, it wasn't hard for me to guess. With a practiced smile, I began waving, making sure to periodically alternate between the left and right side. Even with just that, the crowd exploded in cheers as confetti and petals filled the air. There was so much noise that I could barely hear anything; it was at the point where I suspected that most of them were yelling nonsensically just to make more noise. Hands tried to reach past the guards as they worked to hold back the crowd.

Even with all the noise, I could hear some of the things that they were saying.

"Lady Tanya! Lady Tanya!"

"Thank you!"

"Tanya the Holy!"

"The Holy! The Holy! The Holy!"

"You saved us!"

"My father was—!"

"I…the…mother!"

As I said before, I had been in military parades before. As the Argent Silver, I had my image plastered on newspaper as propaganda. In the streets, I had people smile and wave, but it was always restrained and accompanied by a sense of pity. Children played with me and thought of me as only a little bit different from themselves. I didn't mind. In fact, I encouraged their sense of pity, since there seemed to be a lack of people who would actually think that a little girl shouldn't be part of the war effort. Everything that I did was for my own reasons, and to be honest, fame had never been at the forefront.

So what exactly was I feeling?

It was hard to breathe.

I couldn't mistake the ocean of cheers or the chanting of my name. The happiness and the smiles that alighted their face when I looked in their direction. The river of hand waves that responded to my own waving.

If I was myself, I would be appalled at the lack of operational security. There were too many citizens and too few guards, such that an assassin could easily make their way through. I should be vigilant. I was planning to be.

But I couldn't bring myself to be.

I didn't understand why.

No, I could. I just couldn't grasp it.

The faces that smiled, that grinned, that spoke of a happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time. Was it deserved? Was it not? Bombarded by this flood of emotions, I hardly had a handle on myself. My hand faltered. What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do? For the first time in a very long time, I was at a lost on what to feel.

"Tanya."

The voice brought me back. Looking down, I saw Falric staring up at me with concern.

"I know you're nervous, but that expression…"

I reached my hand to my mouth. It was only then that I realized that I was smiling. My mouth was open and curved, stretching a little too widely across my face.

That was because this was the answer to my problems!

Fame, recognition, and wealth. Even if I couldn't make it to the capital city, as long as I returned to Stratholme, I could easily grasp these by relying on those who were grateful for my past deed. All I had to do was survive on the back lines for the Northrend campaign for a few months and then I could return back to here. My tour of duty would be complete and none would be able to contest my loyalty and conviction to Lordaeron. In that sense, this was my opportunity to seize the prosperous future that I wanted.

I would have laughed, but it wouldn't be a good idea to unnerve the very people who I would be relying on in the near future.

Schooling my expression back into a gentle and compassionate one, I resumed smiling and waving.

The rest of the procession was a blur, but the slow progression and constant service to my adoring fans tired me out. When we reached the harbor, I found Arthas waiting with a surprised and concerned look on his face. Placating his worries with a few choice statements, I was directed to my cabin on the ship and fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow.

~o~

The ship had set sail while I was asleep.

The journey was a steady and safe one, especially since the vessel I was riding on was in the middle of the fleet formation. Every time that I went out on deck, I was mobbed by people trying to build a connection with me. It took weeks for that to settle down. It took even longer to get used to the attention—both subtle and obvious. At this point, it had been over a month since the trip started. Everyone wanted to have a chat with me, and the influential members onboard wanted to speak privately so often that I was just about fed up. They didn't seem to understand the idea that if they had nothing to offer me, then they shouldn't bother. Even though I kept my words polite, there were more than a few times where I was sorely tempted to launch into a tirade. Still, there were some who I couldn't afford to ignore, even with how annoyed I was.

One of them was Galen Trollbane, son of King Thoras Trollbane of Stromgarde.

"Lady Tanya, I believe that a marriage alliance between us will bring my kingdom back into the Alliance."

"Prince Galen, I'm not as influential as you think I am."

"Nonsense." His well-groomed beard crinkled as he smiled. It was supposed to be a charming smile, but it looked just as fake as my own. "My people had never been much of believers, but I think that a change is necessary. A saintess such as yourself will be able to bring the Church to Stromgarde. "

We stood at the edge of the deck just before the railing. There was some distance from the other crew members to ensure some level of privacy, but it was obvious that there were people listening in. If Galen cared, he didn't show it. He stood in his armor, but he had a princely way about him, a mix of charm and arrogance that came from a person of influential background. He would be considered handsome by the majority of people, and he was certainly trying to lay it heavily on me with the persistent way that he was pushing it. It had only gotten more frequent the closer we got to Northrend.

He wasn't the first to give a proposal as there were quite a few from wealthy and influential families—as well as some that were not. One of the more notable ones was a letter from King Genn Greymane of Gilneas whom offered his teenage son's hand in marriage. I wasn't about to accept these. The thing that people didn't understand about marrying into power and wealth was that unless I actually had a really good relationship with my spouse, it was essentially me working for the rest of my life. It would be like marrying my boss; I would be at constant risk of being fired. My marriage would become my job, which would make it an ordeal with low downtime and high overtime. If this was anything like the medieval times of my old worlds, then divorce would only happen upon death so a firing was essentially a premeditated murder or an assassination.

With those kind of negatives, was it any wonder that I would reject these kind of proposals? I would rather make my fortune with my own hands and be free to do with it as I willed.

"I'm not looking to get married at the moment."

"Maybe you'll change your mind in the future," Galen said. "I made a request to Prince Arthas to spare you for the healer's tents. Even though he's the crown prince of Lordaeron, he shouldn't be hogging a saintess of the Church all to himself. It would benefit our armies much more if you work for the greater whole. In fact…" A sly smirk came to his face. "I think I'll be a frequent visitor."

"I thought you only brought a brigade."

"My lady, a full brigade is four thousand. While an Alliance Legion may be eight thousand soldiers, my warriors are worth four of theirs. They'd need two Legions to match the strength of a single Stromgarde brigade!"

"Prince Galen, there's a limit to boasting."

"It's no boast when it's a fact," Galen said proudly. "While Lordaeron has grown fat on peace, Stromgarde has continuously fought the ever encroaching tide of the Trolls."

"Wouldn't that mean you won't be visiting healer's tents often?"

He froze for a moment. Then he laughed it off. "We will be on the frontlines often. Even the most hardiest will be bloodied after a time."

"I see."

I looked up at the overcast skies. Galen stayed to chat for a little more minutes before he left. As for me, I continued to simply stared at the dark clouds and the choppy waves. Well, that wasn't the only thing. We were coming up closer to where the rest of the fleets were. There were hundreds of ships stacked in rows, waiting in anticipation. Beyond them, a great distance away but still in sight, was the icy shores of Northrend.

Our fleet of ships were separating out of formation, moving to create a line in order to fit into the back rows of the navy. As the crew began to work around us, shouting as they began their preparations, I had no doubt that the soldiers on board were preparing themselves. Within a couple of short hours, after our group have completely linked up with the main fleets, the invasion would commence. While I had a basic idea of what would be happening, most of the plans were still being kept secret. Despite that, it was obvious that it would be a seaborne invasion of the icy shores of Northrend.

Even from here, I could make out the black pyramid-like towers that dotted the sands of the beaches. There were creatures—too indistinct at this distance to tell—that were amassing on those very same beaches. To my knowledge, the warships would be bombarding the shores while the soldiers would be using smaller boats to make an amphibious assault. It reminded me of the Invasion of Normandy, and if it was anything like that, then this would be a harrowing operation.

Not that it mattered much to me since I was going to be staying on the warship until the beach was secure.

~o~

How…

How did it come to this?!

I was standing with Arthas at the back of an open-roof landing craft that was made out of wood and metal. Forty soldiers were in the middle of the transport boat, standing upright, but the walls of the craft were high enough to provide cover with the front one being taller. Attached to the back was a rocket engine that had, thankfully, not been ignited yet. If it had, then I probably wouldn't have a chance of getting out of this situation. If this seemed like the type of transport boat that was used in the World Wars of my previous worlds, then you would be absolutely correct. The fact that they existed, I could only blame on the gnomes.

On the seas all around us, I could see hundreds of other landing crafts with more being unloaded from the warships behind us. On the other boats, I found footmen, knights, paladins, archers, mages, and riflemen grimly preparing themselves. In fact, I spotted Galen standing on one of the landing crafts, staring at me with a confused expression as if asking what I was doing on the main assault. Not that there was any way I could communicate to him my dismay.

Above us, gyrocopters—gnomish flying machines outfitted with turbines, some sort of bomb payload, and a mounted machine gun—were being piloted by dwarves who were holding steady in the skies above like a mass of birds. The warships behind were slowly turning to show their broadside, aiming their assortments of cannons toward the shore.

On the beaches, I could see black towers—Ziggurats—that had claw-like spikes at the top, magically holding up a large green crystal shard that glowed ominously. Surrounding them at the ground level was an army of undead composed of ghouls and skeletons. Necromancers were in the back, nearer to the Ziggurats. However, there were also some newer varieties of creatures around them. If I hadn't studied the reports and documents that Arthas received—with his permission—then I wouldn't have known what these spider-like creatures were. They were crypt fiends which were undead creatures that attacked with their bladed limbs and webbing. Worse was the fact that there were lines of meat wagons at the very back, already prepared to unleash their payload of explosive corpses. High above them was a cloud of gargoyles, flapping their wings to stay aloft like a swarm of locusts. I wasn't sure how they qualified as undead, but that didn't change the fact that they were there on the battlefield. Maybe they were like cultists and wanted to die?

If that was the case, then it was our civic duty to grant such a reasonable wish. I would even give it freely and with no strings attached—conforming to their communist mindset—but the problem was that in this kind of scenario, it wouldn't be easy. The odds were always stacked against the attackers even with a mind of charity involved. They could bring to bear their full force while we had to arrive in waves which guaranteed a high cost of attrition. The only way to really soften that was through sabotage, and I had good reason to believe that wasn't possible. If they could simply just lie down and die, then that would be good too. It would help us grant them their wish faster so it was a win-win situation, wasn't it?

This really made me miss the pre-battle banter I used to have with my battalion. It had always been to ease the tension before the fight, but it had become somewhat of a tradition. However, there was no subordinates that I was obligated to take responsibility for, and it made it more apparent that I shouldn't even be here.

I asked Arthas why I wasn't stationed in the back, making sure to emphasize my loyalty and dedication to Lordaeron by stating that it would be more beneficial to the army if I was there.

His answer?

"I left you once in Hearthglen, and you were attacked by a lich. Now? The whole of the Scourge will be after you," Arthas said. "The cultists and demons have proven their ability to infiltrate the cities. A camp will be child's play to them. You will be safer by my side than anywhere else."

What could I state in response to that?! If I said that it would be safer in the back, it would be belittling his ability. Since those of royal bloodlines tended to be prideful, then it would undoubtedly prickle a sleeping lion. At worst, it could even form a long-term grudge that would be a hindrance to my future prospects. If I offended the future king, then it wouldn't matter that I had the gratitude of Stratholme; I would have no place in Lordaeron. With his close friendship to Stormwind, there was a possibility that I wouldn't even have a place there either. I was sure that I could still get by with the Church's influence, but they were maintained primarily in Lordaeron. Moving to any other place would be starting all over again from square one. The only other option would be to take advantage of Galen's marriage.

Even though I considered that kind of thing a last resort, it wasn't a very good one at that. Stromgarde was one of the kingdoms with the least influence from the Church so I wouldn't have much political status to protect me from an assassination. I could just imagine the guards outside my bedroom opening the door voluntarily for a royal assassin to enter through. The marriage proposal was a political tool to acquire a piece. If the piece had no more usefulness, what was the point of keeping it?

Well, I was fairly attractive, wasn't I? Couldn't I simply keep Galen seduced?

As a former Human Resources manager, I knew how to objectively look at my own weaknesses. Sociability and seduction were techniques that were entirely out of my grasp. I couldn't do what I didn't understand. It was impossible. In fact, if I had that kind of skill, then wouldn't it be better to use it for a higher goal like Arthas instead? That would be far more efficient and productive in the short and long run.

Well, not that it would ever happen. It was useless to think about things that no chance of ever becoming reality.

The cannons on the warships began firing in sequence. The loud rumbles of the artillery echoed in a constant and endless chorus as large explosive cannonballs flew overhead in a cluster. They arced through the skies and crashed straight into the throngs of undead on the beaches before they exploded in a blaze of fire, sand, and limbs. The shores lit up as the fiery color brushed through the overcast gloom, painting the scene in a golden hue. However, even with the constant fire, the dent to the armies of the Scourge was negligible with each exposed hole being quickly filled with more undead bodies. Some of the cannonballs smashed into the towers, but even I could see that the structures were slowly but visibly being repaired by dark magic.

Any thought of simply letting the artillery do the work solely by themselves was banished by the rush of gargoyles that rushed through the air over the ocean. The gyrocopters moved to intercept, their rocket engines blazing. They fired at the approaching flying monsters with their machine guns. The burst of gunfire ripped through the gargoyles' wings, sending them falling into the icy depths of the ocean, even as the dwarven pilots deftly darted and maneuvered in the chaos. While the dwarves would be able to hold the air, gyrocopters were in limited supply. Without further anti-air support besides the ones from the mages and archers firing from the warships, they would eventually be depleted and then the warships would be exposed. I knew Arthas realized this as his face turned grim.

"Go!" Arthas raised his hammer towards the shoreline. The driver ignited the rocket engine, sending the landing craft bursting forth. A splash of water hit my face, a testament to its motorboat-like speed as it headed toward the shore. All around us, the other transport vessels followed suit, igniting their own engines and rocketing forward.

Arrows and green magic assaulted us, but the high walls of the vessel protected us. The projectiles pinged and exploded off the vehicle's armor, shaking but not slowing the transport in the slightest. In this respect, I was in the safest position in the back since, to get to me, they would have to first pierce through the landing craft's frontal wall and forty heavily armored meatshields. The crystals at the top of the ziggurats lit up and streams of ghostly white magical energy shot out toward us.

"Dodge!" The driver nodded and swerve to the left. The stream of white was slow-moving, but it still accurately hit the spot we were originally going to move to, exploding in a magical burst that caused sprays of water to be flung into our faces. The transport near us took one of the white streams head-on, the magical blast exploded in a fiery white blaze, warping the armor and sending the craft off-course. While it held, I could tell that it was lagging behind and that it wouldn't be able to take another blast.

Since we were one of the landing crafts at the head of the wave, our transport became a focus of the towers. The thing about accurate shots was that they were predictable. While this was fine if you had enough speed, once we were at landfall, it would be far more difficult to defend against. I held on to the railing as the vessel continuously swerved left and right with the waters around us exploding again and again. It was enough that it should have given me some nausea, but maybe due to my constitution, it only really rattled me.

The closer that we came to the shore, the more I could see of the wide stretch of breach. Covering those sands were masses of undead, waiting with claws and swords. The landing craft shook furiously as the vessel rammed into land and ran ashore, displacing the wet sand. I heard numerous impacts around me as other landing crafts came ashore as well.

"Ready yourselves!" Arthas's command was heeded as the soldiers brought up their kite shields, hiding their bodies behind them. The front wall of the landing craft fell down, slamming into the beach and sending a wave of sand into the air. Arrows, bolts, and green spirals of magic smashed into the shields of the front line, but the soldiers held steady as they charged forward.

"For Lordaeron and the Alliance!" Battle cries echoed not just from my group, but also from the other assault groups across the beach. Arthas ran forward as a golden shield sprung to life around him, his warhammer swinging and smashing apart the bones of a skeletal warrior. Skeleton mages and archers continued to rain fire down on us, even as the ghouls and skeleton warriors charged recklessly into our midst. Steel flashed continuously, even as bone, flesh, and blood—both of the fresh and rotting kind—sailed through the air. The black towers shot out their white streams and the meat wagon flung their payload of corpses, but golden barriers began erecting across the battlefield to diminish the attacks.

"Do not falter!" Arthas yelled even as he pushed forward into the mass of undead. "Follow my lead!"

The footmen and knights quickly reinforced the prince, spreading the bulge in the undead's line out more and more.

"Barrier!" The power word erupted from my mouth, erecting a golden barrier around the entire group as the ziggurats began to focus their magical artillery on us. While it only dampened the lethality of the projectiles, it was enough that—combined with my healing—we were pushing forward. Fortunately, my mana capacity had been increased by my body's growth, allowing me to resist the strain of the black towers' assault.

The sound of the second wave of landing crafts impacting the shore sounded behind us, but this time, some of those vessels contained siege engines. Those mobile artillery vehicles rumbled forth on multitude of wheels and rollers, four exhaust pipes on their backs spewing smoke and flames. The cannons at the top blasted, firing off cannonballs that sailed through the air and smashed into the ziggurats, exploding on impact and sending pieces of the black structure flying away. Even as magic began to repair the frayed edges of the tower, more cannonballs ripped into the structure, some entering the holes and exploding within the depths of the ziggurats. One of the black tower soon became defunct, the light of the giant crystal at the top fading and the magic holding it aloft faltering. The crystal fell heavily, slamming into the side of the structure as it slid down the slanted slope.

As if in response, a chorus of roars echoed from the far distance inland. From behind the far mountains, a group of skeletal dragons rose into the air. The frost wyrms glowed with a blue light within their fleshless skeletal structures, their wings flapping as they headed toward the battlefield.

"Do not let them destroy the siege engines!"

However, contrary to expectations, they flew past the beaches and headed straight for the warships. The gyrocopters, already engaged in a fierce aerial fight with the swarm of gargoyles, began to fire at the approaching dragons. Anti-air fire spewed out from the warships in massive quantity in response to the approaching threat. Even while the projectiles struck the undead beasts, they simply bulldozed through the barrage with their constitution alone. The skeletal wyrms strafed across the warships, spewing a continuous stream of frost. Freezing even the water, they trailed over the warships, producing a line of ice and death. The soldiers and mages on the decks that couldn't get out of the way fast enough were frozen solid with expressions of fear. It was not enough to destroy the warships, the layer of ice added weight that began to contrast with the unfrozen portions, slowly tearing the ships apart. Unfortunately for us, it meant that the artillery support was starting to falter.

While the siege engines concentrated on taking out the ziggurats, the warships' artilleries were for thinning the massive crowds of undead to prevent the ground troops from being overwhelmed. Without their support, the tide began to turn against us, even as the next wave of reinforcement hit the shores. In spite of that, we couldn't afford to lose too much ground; if the siege engines became vulnerable to the ghouls and skeletons, then the battle was as good as over. I knew Arthas realized this as he renewed his efforts with a fury. He fought furiously at the front, even as the undead sought to close the gap that he had purchased with might and blood.

At the back of the undead army, one of three liches floated forward. Casually and lazily, he raised a skeletal finger and pointed at the breach. Or rather, he pointed at Arthas. As if on command, the remaining ziggurats changed their targets, shooting out their ghostly artillery at the breach. The magical projectiles went through the golden barrier, slowing down and losing some of their magical prowess, but what was left was more than enough to bite into us. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I kept up with the healing. The pressure decreased on the other fronts, such that Paladin Dathrohan on the left was making progress while Paladin Bolvar was piercing through their forces on the right. However, despite the Alliance forces' obvious gains, the towers were still focusing on Arthas.

Why was I always forced into these kinds of situations? I gritted my teeth in hatred at what was obviously Being X's manipulation. Why else would they target Arthas above all else instead of an easier target? Why not one of the other paladins?! Despite my immense reluctance, there was no way to avoid it. Damn you, Being X!

"Lord, hear my prayer." I opened my mouth and spoke. Despite wanting it to be a tiny whisper heard by no one, power was infused into those words regardless of my will, such that it sliced through the chaotic symphony of the battlefield like a blade through paper. Heads turned as I felt the gears in my heart cranking, energy filling the Type 95 hidden within. I was no longer supplying my mana to my battle staff, the orb at the top becoming dimmer and dimmer, even as power continued to flood into my heart. The bright, white energy leaked from my skin, appearing like a visible aura as they formed runic circles in the air around me, scriptures written within the lines.

"Give me the power…"

In that moment, it was like the heartbeat of the world echoed. It was not heard nor felt, but it undeniably existed. To all bearing witness, their gaze turned to the source of it all—me. Without opening my eyes, I knew in that moment that I was the center of all their attention. When did I closed my eyes? How did I know this? I did not know, but I knew it to be true regardless. When I opened my eyes, golden light shone within the boundaries of my pupils, leaking out of the edges.

"…to manifest God's miracles in this world!"

The fading golden barrier before me exploded with light. It expanded beyond all my expectations, spreading out across the entire battlefield, encompassing even the meat wagons at the very back. The ghouls and skeletons warriors swayed back, but they regained their footing and moved forward. However, when they did, they found themselves slowed, as if they were moving underwater. In contrast, the footmen and knights surged forward without hindrance, slashing and shattering them apart.

The paladin, Bolvar Fordragon, stared in wonder at the light that surrounding them. He reached his hand out, wanting to touch the golden mote, but his hand passed through like an illusion. Despite that, he could feel a warm comfort surrounding him.

"She really is touched by the Light…"

"It's the saintess!"

"Tanya the Holy!"

"Praise to her and praise to the Light!"

"It must be a new gospel told to her by the Light! A god of Light is watching over us!"

"The Holy! It's the Holy!"

"Bolvar! She didn't do this so you can stand around and gawk! Get out there and fight!"

Renewed battle cries echoed across as a renewed assault began. With the lessened pressure, the siege engines were able to take down the ziggurats one by one, freeing the ground troops to help out with anti-air fire on the gargoyles and frost wyrms. Because of the turning tides and knowing the battle was lost without enough ziggurats, the liches and their entourage eventually left the battlefield, pulling back their armies in a fighting retreat. Once they were gone, what had been a grueling battle turned into a mundane clean-up. By this time, the energy of the Type 95 had long left me and the barrier had faded away, but the effects had already changed the entire course of the battle.

I knew the side effects of the Type 95 well, particularly on my memory, but there was none of that here. I remembered what happened clearly. The chants were still fresh on my lips, and I could control my actions after the initial rush. While the gears had been slowing down, I had delved into the storage of mana gathered by the magic solidification function of the Type 95 that had passively ran throughout these months, even when I was in a coma, to supplement my spells. It helped to minimize with stabilizing the injuried, especially in the aftermath of the fighting. With how much I had contributed, no one questioned me for resting.

As I watched the Alliance army slaying the survivors and dragging the corpses off to be burned, I couldn't help but have mixed feelings.

"What kind of ridiculous war is this?"

War was supposed to be a political tool to advance an agenda. Resources, territory, and influence. Sometimes, those wars were committed for foolish reasons, but eventually, a peace could be reached. When one side tips the scale, the other would sue for a truce. If both sides reached a stalemate, then that was when it would become a meat grinder, breaking down productive citizens and churning out hamburger patties. However, it would almost never come to that conclusion of attrition since the goal was always something else. Something attainable.

But what happens if the goal was attrition?

Then that was when there could only be a war of annihilation. Until one side was grounded down into powder, there would be no peace. No truce. No end.

Endless war.

Well, this was essentially that kind of war, but as long as I could tip the scales for my side, it would eventually snowball to victory.

This battle was a victory. There was no doubt about that. A foothold on the continent had been made, and the casualties had been fairly light considering the forces we were up against. At this rate, it wouldn't be too long before the war came to an end, but I had eaten those words before. It paid to be cautious, especially since it would be in Being X's best interest to prolong the war, to gather more fervent believers and spread his false religion.

It felt disgusting that I was forced to advance Being X's agenda. I had more than a few people come up to me and ask about the god I spoke of, but I told them it was just that, in times of stress, I thought of the Light as a person rather than a concept. I told them that there was nothing else to it. Of course, I could see there was some skepticism at my words, but they eventually went away. I just wasn't sure how well I convinced them, but if I could delay Being X's objective by any amount, I would undoubtedly do so.

"Tanya." I turned to see Prince Arthas walked up to me on the sandy beach.

"Prince Arthas, you should be resting."

"Isn't that what you should be doing?" Arthas set down his warhammer, the stone block pressing against the sand. He leaned on the handle and, with a slight smile on his face, he looked me up and down. I couldn't blame him since it had been four months since I last fought beside him, and the last time that I did, I had fallen into a coma. In fact, his concern for me was a good thing since that meant that my value was rising in his eyes. I returned the smile back.

"How does a small body like yours contain so much power?"

"Light only knows, my prince," I vaguely replied.

"Maybe it does." He picked up his warhammer. "I suppose it doesn't matter. This battle struck a great blow, but from here on, the battles will be tougher. Will you follow me?"

"Someone has to keep you alive," I said bitterly. He laughed in response.

"That's true," Arthas spoke with a smile. "That's very true."

Looking down, I spotted a fallen battle standard. It was covered in sand and speckled with blood. Crouching down, I picked up the handle and brushed the sand off the flag. Hoisting it up as I stood up, I jammed the bottom end into the sand between a few rocks, twisting it back and forth to dig a hole as a ray of light broke through the clouds and shined down on me. When I let it go, the battle standard stood upright, the flag illuminated by the sun and swaying in the wind.

A chorus of roars sounded out, startling me and nearly making me jump. Looking around, I found a crowd of soldiers had gathered around, even as more gathered at the edges.

All this over just fixing a battle standard? I could see plenty of other ones standing in other areas, being practically ignored.

What made this one so special?

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Vahn (Vahnhammer): My young girl diary that became a fantasy rpg that transformed into an eroge that transition to an otome game is now a rts...how unexpected. Anyway! Thanks for reading!

Icura: One of the reasons that I started on this idea was because I wanted to try writing war. Well, large-scale fighting, and you can see I have been doing each battle scenes in somewhat different styles. I noticed that there is not very many writers can do war scenes that well. Most writers only ever do small scale battles, and when they do war, they focus so much on the one portion where the main character is at that they lose the sense of scale. Having tried my hand at it, it is both harder and easier than I imagined. By the way, the dress is the Argent Confessor Paletress.


	12. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

Northrend was a barren wasteland of a continent. There was ice and snow as far as I could see, and that was only broken by the occasional hill and mountain. Even then, it was hard to tell if that was a natural elevation of land or if it was just a massive pile of snow. That fact showed how much snow fell on these land year-round. Instead of Federation territory, this was more akin to Antarctica due solely to its desolation. For that reason, most of the human settlements had been nearer to the coast, even though all of them now had been scourged of life and their buildings left in shambles. Further inward, the land became more and more inhospitable, and the records found in the settlement ruins indicated that there were dangers the further that one went northbound like crypt fiends and trolls. Indeed, we had encountered some of these very same dangers, only they were of the undead variety.

Our company consisted of a company of two hundred heavily armored soldiers marching across the icy plains. At the very front of the formation was the usual party that consisted of Arthas at the vanguard with Marwyn and Falric at his sides. Behind them, I was traveling with Jaina who we had met up with after the invasion of the beach. At the back, there were a few mounted and unmounted horses that were being led along by soldiers; they were used to send back messages, updated maps, and injured soldiers. Some would question why the horses weren't in full use at the front since this was after all a scouting party. The reason was simple: the terrain was too treacherous. Our job was to head northwest from the shore in the direction that the scryers had seen as the location of the Lich King. Months ago, a beam of light had apparently displayed his location, but they needed the scryers to confirm that he was still there, and he was. The location where he was at was situated just outside the region. However, the trip had not been fast.

It had been a week, but the journey had only led us halfway across Dragonblight—the name that the Kirin Tor had given for this region—and that passage had been marked by periodic casualties. There were places where the ice and snow collapsed, slipping down into holes that were sometimes too far for any of us to attempt a rescue. The location would be mark on the map and a marker flag would be placed near the hole, but it was kind of obvious they would probably be swallowed up by the snowfall within a few days. Still, it was protocol, no matter inefficient it was. As soldiers, we needed to trust that there was a higher purpose to it and that they weren't simply grossly ignorant of the conditions in the field. Of course, that last part was a joke since most of them seemed to love being on the frontlines.

That thought made me want to sigh. When your superiors were warmongers, you obviously couldn't rest easily.

Our advance into Dragonblight was slow since we had to test our footing before moving further. That involved testing the ground in front of you with a pole. In this kind of situation, the optimal solution would be to have a long rope to tie around everyone's waist to prevent people from falling to their untimely deaths. I would wholeheartedly advocate it, if it weren't for the fact that we were being periodically attacked. Fighting while having a rope tied to you could work with dwarven fighters that focused on a defensive style, but humanity's style of melee fighting required footwork, making a rope too much of a hindrance.

While our main task was to find safe passage, we did have a secondary objective of clearing out any undead remnants we found, of which there were many. The scattered remnants were easy enough to put down, but the troublesome ones were the small, organized raiding parties that ambushed us more times that I would have liked to remember. Those raiding parties had been the primary reason that we found many of those collapsing spots. It wasn't until we started hunkering down more to fight instead of moving around. Still, it wasn't stationary enough that I could put use the rope tying method, unfortunately.

We were on the most northern route, so there were other scouting parties just south of us, making their own way toward the location of the Lich King, but they were experiencing far worse difficulties than we were. It was precisely because our company of soldiers included royalty such as the crown prince of Lordaeron and the daughter of the Lord Admiral that we had a safer route nearer the northern mountainsides, but in exchange, we had the least amount of troops which did not include any paladins besides Arthas. That seemed like a dangerous prospect, but the foes we encountered hadn't been that hard. In fact, from the periodic information exchanges, the other scouting groups were being constantly harassed by far bigger raiding parties, enough that their progress had been slowed. A sound decision would have been to wait for them to catch up in progress, but Arthas was recklessly pushing ahead, much to my dismay.

At least, the one thing that I didn't have to worry about was the cold.

There was a reason why all the soldiers in heavy armor around me weren't wearing heavy fur cloaks or padding the insides of their armor with fur clothing; the same reason that I was standing here on the icy ground and facing the chilly winds without a shiver even though I was only wearing a one-size too small priestess outfit. That was because of warming runes. All of the clothing underneath their armor had the fire runes inscribed on them by Dalaran enchanters that ensured that we could journey into Northrend without being burdened by heavy fur clothing, allowing us greater mobility. This was especially important since our enemies wouldn't be hindered by the cold or weight. Though, even without the runes, the cold wasn't as bad because this world's humans had a higher constitution. It was enough that I was even tempted to demote General Winter to Colonel instead. The only reason I didn't was because if the warming rune got damaged in a battle, dying from the cold was still be a big risk even with a strengthened constitution.

"Tanya, if you daze out like that, you'll die," Jaina said stoically, interrupting my thoughts. "And if you die, Arthas will be..."

"Y-yes, I will! Princess Jaina, can you…" Since she was already talking, I wanted to continue the conversation more, but she had already turned away.

I couldn't hide my disappointment. That was because this was the first time she initiated a conversation with me the entire journey. Fact of the matter was, ever since she had joined up with us after the beach invasion, she had acted aloof. She answered readily enough when addressed, but she wasn't as talkative and didn't give as many comments like she used to. At first, I thought it had something to do with Stratholme, but the anger should have been from Arthas's side. However, it didn't seem like Arthas held any remaining animosity about it. As such, I had a feeling that it must have been something that happened in the time I was in a coma, though it wasn't something that I could ask about.

More time passed as we marched through the snow-covered plains. Progress had been slow since we had to check our footing in these dangerous terrains, and the small undead assaults that came like clockwork didn't help. It didn't really make sense why they didn't just converge their undead forces into a swarm instead of sending them piecemeal. What was worse was that a faint misty fog was starting to settle, making it harder to make out things in the distance. However, even if we were being led into a trap, Arthas wasn't one to back down. That was why it was all the more important that I needed to make a mention of it so that it would be on record that I said something. If it really did come to pass, then it would count as a warning unheeded which was essentially a merit in my favor, and if it didn't happen, it would simply be thought of as being overly cautious.

"Prince Arthas." I moved up to catch up with the prince and his two captains. Arthas nodded at my approach. Now, to start with the hook. "It feels like we're running into a trap."

"What makes you say that?"

"The enemy has been hindering the other scouting groups far more than they have with us, but it doesn't make sense. Instead of sending small raiding parties, they could have held them back and then send in a huge swarm. Not only that, but…" I began to list out the other pieces of evidence. The thing about dealing with war-minded individuals was that you had to cater to their thought processes. The main body was to provide facts, evidence, and analysis while keeping bias at a minimal so that they wouldn't see it as trying to influence them. I listed out my key observations and then connected them to the benefits and risks to the company. When I was done, he looked pensive.

"What do you suggest?"

"We hold back until the other scouting groups catch up to our progress." I had no illusion that he would take up my solution, but this would finish off my conclusion.

"Then we'll do just that," Arthas said without hesitation, stunning me into silence. He turned to Falric and Marwyn. "Halt the march. This is as good of a place as any to set up camp."

"At once, my lord." Marwyn bowed his head.

Falric turned around and shouted, "Halt!"

His shout was repeated down the column as his order was followed, bringing the marching column to a stop. He soon gave out instructions that were passed along. The soldiers began settling down, some of whom were pulling out tents from their packs. Others were padding along the outer boundaries to make sure the footing was safe enough. While I wanted to ask Arthas to make sense of all this, I couldn't just go up to a superior officer and ask him why he was listening to me now. Then again, it wasn't hard to figure out the reason why. Due to my fame, he couldn't simply ignore my opinion like before. A local politician could be ignored, but if that politician got elected to the National Diet, then even the Prime Minister would have to listen.

It helped that I was actively increasing my influence. Each time we made camp, I did a round through the column to give small talk and increase morale, which was an easier and better option than helping out with the manual labor. However, it was also a necessity. The march had been at a grueling pace, and these soldiers had mostly been idled by peace. The battles thus far were starting to whittle away at their freshness, honing them even as it brought down their mood. That was the reason that I had to go around the forming campsite, to make sure that their morale was high enough to fight properly and to increase our relationship value enough that they would be willing to hurl their bodies in front of a sword or arrow aiming at me.

Sycophants would curry favor only with those above them, but the truly successful entrepreneurs knew that it was just as important to engage those around and under them who were in a position to be useful. Even better was that the situation was conductive to my manipulation; we were in a foreign, cold land with friends and comrades being exchanged out periodically because of injuries. It was reasonable for their moods to be in the depths, thus making it far easier to establish a positive bond with them. The financially bankrupt would be more susceptible to charity than the wealthy. That was why cults existed.

I was halfway through the newly formed camp when I heard faint faraway noises, and I wasn't the only one. It took me a moment to realize that it was the sound of metal clashing.

The soldiers around me immediately stood up, affixing their swords and sheaths to their waists. Shouts sprang up across the camp as I moved to the front. I saw Arthas and Jaina, looking grimly in the direction that it was coming from the sound was coming from. Just as I was about to speak to them, a scout emerge from the thickening fog, running toward us. It wasn't long before he reached us, and by that time, the soldiers had already gotten into formation behind us.

"Milord!" The scout slowed to a stop, taking a few moments to catch his breath. He knelt down on one knee as he pointed back toward the fog. "There are blue dwarves fighting trolls over the ridge along with Alliance dwarven riflemen. Judging by the numbers and their wounded, they will not last long, milord."

"Stand." Arthas turned back toward his column of soldiers standing in formation. He raised his warhammer and pointed to the fog. "Soldiers of the Alliance! There are survivors beyond the ridge. You know your duty. Now, forward and make haste!"

The company of soldiers began jogging forward, their commanding officers making sure to force the soldiers to maintain their pace. I could tell that many of them wanted to run even faster, but that kind of pressure on the environment was bound to result in slips and collapsing ground. The sounds of the fighting were getting closer. However, rather than us moving onto the scene of the fight, the battlefield moved to us. From over the ridge, there were pale-bluish dwarves running into view. They paused only momentarily upon seeing us and quickly resumed running as trolls emerged into sight. One of them was about to throw an axe at the fleeing dwarf and her child, but an arrow pierced into his wrist. The force only made the troll pause for a moment, and then he threw the axe anyways as if he didn't receive a wrist injury. The weapon spiraled through the air before the blade embedded into the dwarf woman's back, sending her crashing into the snow with her child under her. The troll's glossy dead eyes turned toward us.

"Undead!" Arthas began speeding up. "Advance!"

The prince charged forth, as he always did, and smashed his warhammer into the troll's head. Of course, this caused the rest of the company follow suit in spite of the dangerous terrain. Battle cries rang out, heralding our arrival. As for me, I made my way to the downed dwarf, putting my hand on her neck. The soldiers rushing forward thankfully moved around us, giving me some space to work with. Feeling a pulse, I quickly used a healing spell on her to stabilize her and take care of the wound. While she was still unconscious, it seemed that dwarves were hardy enough to take an axe to the back without dying from the shock. I grabbed a nearby soldier.

"Take them!" I set the confused soldier upon the unconscious dwarf and her child before I rushed ahead. I wasn't like the rest of these warmongers with a predilection toward battle, but I still had to make sure that my investment was safe. Moving over the ridge with plenty of armored soldiers by my side, I found Arthas and several of the front troops were already engaged with the undead trolls. They were fighting alongside a dozen blue dwarven warriors as well as several normal looking dwarves. Huddled behind their line was a group of what looked like fifty blue dwarven refugees. We had a distinct advantage since the trolls numbered only a few dozen, and our advantage was growing as more and more alliance soldiers joined the fight.

With that kind of headway, the fight was soon done with with minimal injuries on our side, and those were being taken care of by the other clerics. I made my way over to the group of blue dwarves to take care of their casualties, though I was close enough to see and hear Arthas as he walked up to one of the regular-looking dwarves.

"Muradin!"

"Arthas," the dwarf said as he moved up to the prince and clasped hands with him. "By the great maker, lad. I don't know what business you have in this frozen wasteland, but ye be a sight for sore eyes."

"Magni will be happy we found you alive and well. We thought the worst when we found the remnants of your encampment."

"Aye. I'm still in one piece, unlike the rest of my expedition," Muradin said. "When the undead started overwhelming us, we had to go inland. Lost many good dwarves just getting there."

The dwarf sighed heavily as his shoulders sagged.

"Luckily, we found these fellows. Cousins of ours, I should say." Muradin waved his hand to a nearby blue dwarf who came forward. The dwarf had an older and rougher look to him, wearing a dark blue full armor and holding a serrated axe. "This is the current leader of the Frostborn, Velog Icebellow. They gave us shelter when there was no place to run, but we led the undead to their doorstep. They sieged us for weeks, and they only broke through recently. We had to run, but nearly the rest of the expedition fell and most of the Frostborn were massacred." He held out his hand to the refugee group. And me by proxy. "This is all that's left of the Frostborn."

"They'd have found us out sooner or later," Velog said gruffly.

"Maybe, but I made it sooner rather than later." Muradin turned toward the prince. "Arthas, I need to make amends with them."

"Consider it done." Arthas turned toward the leader of the Frostborn dwarves. "King Velog, we'll bring your people back to our camp. After that, I'll have them sent to the shores and on a ship to the Eastern Kingdoms. The place may be a little hotter than your people are used to, but it'll be far safer than in Northrend."

"I'm no king," Velog said. "But you have my thanks."

"Think nothing of it. You have saved Muradin and sacrificed your people. The Alliance owes you a debt of gratitude."

I was done with the healing by the time that Velog made his way over. He nodded his thanks to me, and I nodded back my acknowledgment. Or at least, that was what I thought the nods were for, but technically, they were just nods that had no real differentiation. I walked up as Muradin and Arthas continued their talk.

"So Magni sent ya, lad?"

"In a way," Arthas said evasively. "The invasion required preparation, otherwise I'd have come sooner if I could have."

"And you'd be dead if what you say about the undead is right," Muradin said. "By my hammer, I'd be dead if I headed to the beach instead of inland."

"What are you doing here anyways, Muradin?"

"There were rumors of a runeblade called Frostmourne," the dwarf said. "I'm not one to run at all the hearsay, but this one had some meat to it."

"A runeblade…" Arthas looked stunned. Even I was stunned from what I was hearing, not that he noticed me standing nearby. Runeblades were powerful and ancient weapons, enough that one of those was worth a few cities or even a small kingdom.

"You know how valuable those are. I had to get right on it before some others could bang together a treasure hunting crew. Brought with me a hastily assembled expedition and got on the quickest ride to Northrend. Thought we didn't need too much preparations, just enough to deal with the wildlife, traps, and other treasure hunters." Muradin looked sullen. "Aye, I was wrong."

"You couldn't have known."

"They trusted me with their lives, laddie. It's my job to know the unknown."

"Then we'll start making amends here," Arthas said decisively. "Where is the runeblade? If we have that, we can put an end to the Lich King and stop the undead before they reach our shores again."

"Again?! They did this before?"

"Yes, Muradin. They attacked Stratholme, but they were repelled. That's why this invasion had to happen; if we don't stop the Lich King here, he'll eventually invade the Eastern Kingdoms once more." Arthas turned his gaze to the numerous soldiers milling about. "If we have that blade, we can save countless soldiers—good men and women of the Alliance—who would perish otherwise in the assault against the undead Scourge."

"You've a good heart, lad, but I don't bloody know where we are."

"I can help with that," I said as I took out a map from my pack. They looked at me in surprise, as if they weren't expecting me to be right there next to them. It wasn't unexpected for me since I saw how much they were into their conversation. Once I unfolded the map, I held it out for him to see and pointed out where we were.

"That's good, lass. This map's better than what I have." Muradin stared at it for a moment more before he blinked his eyes in surprise. After that, they widened. "By my hammer! It's nearby."

"Where?!" Arthas walked up next to the dwarf and stared hard at the map.

"Somewhere around this area." He pressed his stubby finger on a spot that was north of our position, nearer to the mountains.

"We've already cleared out that area of stragglers," I said.

"Then it'll be faster if we take a small group and head there." Arthas had an excited look on his face.

"We should take everyone. What if there are undead in the cave?" I voiced my concerns.

"No, the lad is right. Those caves aren't meant to hold this many soldiers. It'll take too long."

"We'll head in first," Arthas said. "I'll have Falric and Marwyn meet us by the cave's entrance with the soldiers for when we exit."

~o~

Of course, Falric and Marwyn protested, but their concerns were overridden by the prince. This was just too important to delay on. The runeblade was a dangerous and useful weapon, and while the Lich King might not be able to use it, he had more than enough cultists or orcs who were skilled enough to wield the weapon. There weren't that many undead in the area so either they hadn't found it or they had already taken it. We were banking on the former, which was why we marched speedily across the snow covered grounds in the direction of the north. Since we knew that the rest of the company would be following soon, we took minimal supplies to speed up our progress.

The group consisted of Muradin, Arthas, Jaina, myself, a couple of skilled knights, and a couple of veteran dwarven riflemen from the nearly wiped out expedition. Honestly, I would have thought those dwarves would want to rest after all they had been through, but instead, they had been raring to go. They even got into a fist fight over who would be going, which resulted in another of their members being knocked unconscious. Well, I could understand to an extent; they risked their lives for this, and they wanted to see it through to the end. The dwarves made up the vanguard, and they were adept at navigating the dangerous terrain, enough that we didn't have to worry about stepping onto collapsing snow. That increased the speed of our party enough that, within an hour, we were already within sight of the cave entrance. It didn't even take that much searching to find it.

The entrance was dug into the mountainside, but the placement of the snow made it difficult to see until you were nearly already upon it. After that, it was almost obvious no matter where you stand. Surprisingly enough, the entrance didn't have mounds of snow in front of it which raised my suspicions a bit. When I voiced my concerns, Muradin simply nodded without a hint of surprise.

"That's how these caves are. These relics want to be found. Doesn't mean they gained sentience, but its in their nature to want to be used." Muradin took the first step into the cave's entrance. "Careful now. Just because they want to be found doesn't mean whoever put them there wants the same. Be on the lookout for traps.

We cautiously made our way inside the cave. It was a straight tunnel without any side paths, but we stayed vigilant, looking at the walls and grounds to make sure there wasn't any traps. Because this was a naturally formed cave, the surfaces weren't smooth; that made it even harder to spot the differences between the craggy surfaces and what could be a trap trigger.

Except there were no traps.

By the time we reached the end of the tunnel, we had wasted a lot of time searching for nonexistent traps. I could see the impatience on Arthas's face, but I felt that it was better that we weren't put into any danger. Of course, that impatience quickly faded when we stepped foot into the huge cavern. There were numerous stalactites that hung from the ceiling, but more importantly, in the center of the mostly empty cavern, there was a pedestal with a sword embedded it. There was a thin layer of ice on top of the blade and the pedestal, enough to cover them but still thin enough to see through. Despite our anxiousness, we carefully made our way across the cold floor.

When we reached it, Arthas began walking forward more quickly.

"So this is the runeblade…" Muradin grabbed Arthas's arm to stop him.

"Hold, lad! There's an inscription on the dais. Give me a little to read it." Muradin walked past the prince and knelt down at the pedestal. As he was concentrating on the runic inscriptions, I looked around. The dwarves were excited, coming up behind Muradin to get a closer look. The two knights were as excited and were giving wary glances around them, though they concentrated their focus mostly on the tunnel we had went through. Arthas was the most anxious, though he didn't move from where he stood. As for Jaina, she had a dazed look to her as she stared at the runeblade.

I turned my gaze back to the embedded blade. Even from here, I could tell that it was powerful, but there was something else there that didn't agree with me. Well, it wasn't that illogical; I certainly wouldn't want to be standing next to an armed nuke. That meant that if the feeling that I was getting was correct, this was probably a powerful enough weapon to make a difference in the war.

"This is a warning," Muradin finally said in almost a whisper, but his voice pierced through the silence with its grimness. "It says, 'Whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal. Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.' Oh, I should've known." He stood up and turned around to face us. "The blade is cursed. Let's get the hell out of here!"

"And let this chance slip away?" Arthas stepped forward. "I would gladly bear any curse to save my homeland."

"Arthas!" I quickly moved in front of him. If the inscription was right, then it would damage his soul. I wasn't sure what would happen, but there was a good chance that it would be the end of my meal ticket, and I needed him alive if I wanted to reap the rewards after this campaign was over. "It doesn't have to be you. You could find another to volunteer."

"And let someone else bear this burden?"

"Will sacrificing yourself make it better?"

I stood firmly in front of him. While I knew that the prince could easily shove me aside with his strength, Muradin was behind me so the dwarf would have time to stop him. However, in spite of my expectations, Arthas didn't even try to shove me aside or move past me. Instead, as if reluctant to do otherwise, he simply glared at me. I didn't want to use this, but it wasn't like there was any choice.

"If you don't want anyone else to take up the sword, then we'll find another way."

That last part made him wince.

"Tanya, I have to do this," Arthas said. "Step aside."

"If you want the blade, you'll have to go through me first."

Arthas gritted his teeth as his grip on his warhammer tightened. He stared angrily at me, but I held his gaze. It seemed like a long time before he turned his eyes away.

"Damn it!" He brought down the warhammer to the left of me, missing me by a good margin. There cracks in the ground which was a testament to his strength. I didn't mind it too much since people often punched walls to vent their frustration; this was no different. In fact, this was an indication of my success.

The silence in the aftermath was near deafening, but it was eventually broken. However, it wasn't from a source that I expected.

"I see you've made your choice." A familiar dark laughter echoed through the cavern.

"Mal'ganis!" Arthas roared. "Show yourself, coward."

"I told him you were a lost cause, and I was right." Darkness formed at the edges of the cavern, coalescing into a single spot at the far end. It melted together, forming a humanoid shadow, from which the green dreadlord emerged from. However, unlike his previous appearance in Stratholme, he was missing a horn and an arm, and his entire body was horrifically scarred. Despite that, the demon grinned in amusement. "Ah well, I do believe we will be going with Tichondrius's plans."

"And what plan would that be, demon scum?"

"Why, that would be me killing you and possessing your body, of course," Mal'ganis answered before he flapped his wings, causing a gust to fill the cavern that nearly sent me off of my feet.

Loud booms echoed through the cavern as the dwarven riflemen were the quickest to react, firing their muskets. The dreadlord weaved around their shots with an agility that belied his damaged form.

"For Lordaeron!" The knights charged forward, and Arthas and Muradin were not far behind. I quickly did a cast of Renew on each of the melee fighters as they engaged in the fight. The four formed a square formation around the demon, but even with them sliding in to attack from the four corners, they were still getting hit by the retaliation strikes despite the fact that the demon only had one clawed hand to use. With how frantic the fighting was, the riflemen were only able to get a few potshots off here and there, not that it seemed to affect the demon at all. The only reason that we were actually slightly winning was the fact that I was topping off the health of everyone, making sure that we were at full strength as we whittled away at the demon's body.

As everyone was concentrated on the dreadlord, I was the only one with situational awareness in case there were more enemies hidden from view. That was why I noticed that Jaina was not a part of the fighting. When I turned to look for her, I saw her climbing the steps to the pedestal.

"Princess Jaina?"

"Jaina? What are you doing?!" Arthas shouted as he dodged another swipe from Mal'ganis.

"Getting everything I ever wanted…" Jaina stepped up to the pedestal and reached out her hand. I could hear Arthas shouting and even the dreadlord exclaiming in surprise. Her finger touched the layer of ice that surrounding the hilt, and it shattered in a magical explosion. Like the fragments from a grenade, one of the shards flew at my face and struck me in the forehead.

"Tanya!" I could hear Arthas shouting as I fell to the floor, my head and ears ringing. My vision was blurring, and it felt like my brain had been rattled endlessly in my skull. Blinking didn't seem to help, but the fact that I was still conscious could only be attributed to the constitution of my body.

"Jaina! No!"

"Snap out of it, lass!"

My vision and disorientation cleared up just enough to find Jaina standing over me with Frostmourne. She had it raised up in a reverse grip with the blade aimed straight for my chest.

"Wha…" My eyes widened in realization. "Stop, you crazy—!"

Frostmourne was driven down into my chest, the blade punching through my uniform as if it was mere cloth. I felt the pain, but more than that, there was a cold feeling dripping into my body from my punctured chest. A voice, a harsh voice, seemed to not only fill my ears but the entirety of my being.

**"Now, your soul is mine!"**

It was a tug at the very fabric of myself, defiling my innermost thoughts. My secrets—even my very identity—was being touched, twisted, and pulled upon. Every fiber of my being shouted my revulsion even as the echoing laughter became louder and louder.

In spite of that, in spite of everything, I reached up with my hands and grabbed the blade, letting the edge cut into my palms. Jaina stared down at me with dull eyes.

"…lord."

A pulse. An echo that stretched the moment into eternity. I could see the slight confusion in her eyes, even as the gears began to grind in my heart.

"Let the souls of your lambs not fall into darkness."

The sounds of gears began to replace the laughter. My blood dripped down the blade from my palms.

"Let it forever shine in your light…"

The laughter had stopped, but by this point, I could no longer hear it even if it didn't. I could barely see her because it was becoming too bright.

"…and let it bask in your glory forevermore!"

Light filled my world.

~o~

I stood in a world that was completely black, but this wasn't the black of a void. No, this was the black that was the convergence and destruction of all color. Somehow, I knew that if I were to concentrate on one single point, I would stare at its intricacies and complexities endless. For eternity. It was hard to bring my sight away, but within this perfected chaos, there was a trail of green. Like wet paint, it stayed above the blackness and elongated off into the distance. I naturally followed the trail.

Each step I took left a footprint of white, the absence of color. Even as I followed the trail of green, I left my own path of white behind me. Somewhere along this journey, I became aware of myself.

My hands were soft and tender, hands that knew only office work. I reached up to adjust the frame-less oval glasses that were affixed to my face and ears in a familiar habit and in its passing, my hands drifted over my face, touching each lines and curves. Angular and handsome. Masculine. My hair was slicked back with a modest amount of gel, and the smell that came to my nose was the hint of cologne that I wore. That I used to wear.

Worn over my body was an immaculate business suit and formal business dress pants, halfway hidden from sight by an expensive black trench coat that had served me well in the colder seasons. A tie hung from my collar, a tasteful gift from a former boss. On my feet were custom-fitted dress shoes, more than worth their weight in yen. In particular, I could feel a lack on my chest and an addition to my pelvis. Noticeable differences.

"What is this?" Even my voice was the charismatic and authoritarian one that I remembered having. It brought a wave of nostalgia that I wasn't sure if I liked or not. Yet, in spite of observing the return of my old body, my feet had never stopped. Against my will—or perhaps, it was my will—I followed the green trail. Each step I took, the cranking of gears echoed in my ears, sounds where there should not have been any sounds. White from my footprints were leaking outward, voiding the black around it. Or rather, it was purifying it. I didn't know what to make of it, even as I kept walking.

"Who are you?"

Hearing the voice, I came to a stop and looked up from where I was staring at my own feet. Across from me stood an brutish-looking orc who, unlike others of its kind, looked gaunt and almost skeletally thin. He had plenty of visible scars over his body, as if he had been tortured, but his eyes held intelligence and a vibrant hatred that was only accentuated by the white skull painted on his face. Slowly, my eyes narrowed. That was because I knew the voice, even though it no longer had the harsh echo that had accompanied it. It was the voice from the sword.

"You…"

That was when I saw something behind the orc. Or rather, someone. My eyes widened as I took in the sight of Jaina standing behind him, her body chained by numerous black ropes and her eyes closed. As if noticing my gaze, the orc's face scrunched up in anger, making the skull paint become more intimidating.

"Begone from here. This soul is mine!" The green liquid beneath him pooled outward, forming a ritual circle. It glowed brightly, as if magic was becoming infused into it.

I took a step forward. One after the other until one of my dress shoes touched the outer circle. From the soles, a whiteness poured out. The orc's face changed to astonishment before anger took over once again.

"Then I'll reap your soul as well!" The orc stepped forward onto the inner circle, but his feet floated over the green liquid, not disturbing it in the slightest.

We met each other halfway through and struck out with the only weapons that we had on us. Our fists.

My right fist smashed into his cheek, smearing his face and chipping a tooth. His right fist struck my cheek, shattering my glasses from the strength of the impact. There was no finesse, and there was no dodging. Our fists lashed out, and we followed through. We mirrored each other, striking at the temple, the chin, the sides, the ears, the nose, the solar plexus, the abdomen, the shoulders, the shins, the legs, the ankles, the feet, the wrists…

It was an endless chain of striking and being struck. Here, there was no breath to take nor fatigue to accumulate. Despite that, our bodies began to fail us, but if there was one thing that I could count on, it was for me to fail last.

"How… How…?! This is my territory!" The orc raged as he rampaged with his broken fists. Flesh ripped and bones exposed, but he kept punching in spite of the obvious pain. "Why do you fight the inevitable?!"

"Because…" The words came from deep within me—my true thoughts and feelings that had simmered in the depths of my very being since this all began—as I slammed my forehead into his, shattering the frontal bone of his skull. "You're in the way of my retirement plan!"

The orc fell to the floor, writhing. He held his forehead tightly as a primal roar escaped his mouth. The blackness of the world began to fragment as I stepped past his fallen body. As I walked into the center of the ritual circle, the whiteness filtered out onto the floor. Absence.

Gone was the ritual circle and gone was the chains that held Jaina. She fell into my arms as my body and clothes became immaculate, restored in an instant. The world around me was already falling apart, but I only looked down at her.

Her eyes were open, and she stared at me. Her lips parted, but no sound came through them.

I merely smiled in response.

Until the world around us became too bright to see.

~o~

The blade of Frostmourne snapped in half. Jaina, holding the hilt, stumbled a few steps back as light and comprehension came back to her eyes. She dropped her half of the broken runeblade, even as she stared in horror at what she had done. If she had time to stare like that, couldn't she had help me? I wanted to yell at her, but the pain at having the other half of the runeblade embedded into my chest prevented me from doing so. Even as the sharp edges bit into my palms, I slowly started pulling the blade out. A groan escaped me as I inched it out, and that seemed to startle Jaina into action. She moved to my side, bending down on one knee and putting her hands on the flat of the blade. With a single pull, we yanked the broken blade out of my chest and threw it carelessly to the side.

Jaina pressed down on my wound with one hand, her other reaching into her satchel for a red potion bottle. She uncorked it her with her teeth and poured the red liquid liberally on my wound. Even as she did that, I used a couple of healing spells on myself. It was only when the potion bottle was empty and the pain having greatly lessened that I stopped using mana on the spells. My head was still groggy as she helped me sit up.

"Impossible…" The demonic voice brought my eyes to the other side of the room where Mal'Ganis was staring at me as he unsteadily tried to climb to his feet. Arthas was the second to recover.

"Nothing's impossible for the Light!" The prince gave a battle cry as he picked up his warhammer and rushed forward. Mal'Ganis readied himself, but a hammer thrown by Muradin who was only sitting up slammed into his side, throwing him off balance. The golden shine of the Light surrounded Arthas's warhammer, making his weapon shine brighter than ever. It was almost too bright as the stone head slammed down onto the dreadlord's chest. The armor warped under the impact, the infusion of Light spreading across his body.

"This… This is not over!"

"No, this is the end!" Arthas's golden gauntlet grasped the dreadlord's forehead in a vice grip. The glow of the Light flooded into Mal'Ganis as a thin pillar of Light began to surround them both. "Die, Mal'Ganis!"

"What is this…? No!" Mal'Ganis screamed as his body shattered apart in a green explosion. The green vapors coalesced together and tried to move away, but they were burned up by the Light, leaving only a scream that seemed to echo and linger in the cavern.

As the scream slowly faded away, a silence took hold that was only broken by harsh breathing.

"Ya think you can give me a hand, lass? I think I broke a rib."

I nodded at Muradin's request as Jaina helped me up to my feet. The other knights and dwarves were getting up as well. Just as I was about to walk over to Muradin, a loud psionic pulse spread across the cavern, leaving as quickly as it came. Everything shook in its passing, as if they were aftershocks of an earthquake. However, in that moment that it touched me, I felt like someone was angrily screaming with all their might in my head. That sensation lingered even after the pulse was gone.

Then there was a second pulse.

**"KILL THEM ALL!"**

The reverberation echoed through my head, staggering me and forcing me to hold my hands to my head. I could see that I wasn't the only one as everyone else was clutching at their heads. I was the first to shake off the effects, and I quickly attended to their injuries. The holy spells didn't seem to help with the headache, but that was slowly fading over time.

"My lord!" From the tunnel, I saw Falric and Marwyn entering the cavern, followed by the rest of the company of soldiers.

"Marwyn? Falric? What are you doing in here?" Arthas shook off the effects of the pulse, chambering to his feet.

"We entered when we heard the sounds of fighting, but our way was hindered by undead coming from secret passageways in the walls of the tunnel. Then that strange quake sent the men reeling so we could only reach you now," Marwyn said. "Are you hurt, my lord?"

"I'm fine, but…"

"Shush! Do you hear that?" Muradin pressed his ear to the ground. He listened for a couple of moments. "Something's coming!"

It took a little before I heard it. The sound of scratching noise coming closer. The soldiers came to the center of the room, forming a protective circle around us. However, the thought of fighting soon died when we realized that the sound was coming from everywhere. The ground, the walls, the ceiling, and even the tunnel to leave this place. Stalactites began to fall as the scratching and shaking became more intense.

"The cavern's collapsing," Muradin said even as he readied his hammer. Arthas turned to Jaina.

"Jaina! Can you get us out!?"

Jain—as weary as she was—raised her staff into the air as runic lines formed beneath our feet. In the air, an arcane-powered ribbon began encircling us. It was at that point that tank-sized beetles broke through the walls, the holes they left behind spewing out swarms of spiders. Just before the beetles could reach us, the ribbons connected, enveloping us in a flash of light.

When the light faded away, I found that all of us were standing in a courtyard, surrounded by the familiar white-washed walls of the main base. However, instead of being welcomed by the soldiers and support troops that manned the base, we found it filled with wounded soldiers lying on stretchers and bedrolls. The sounds of loud cannon fire greeted us, and the chaotic clashes of blades made the situation apparent to us.

The Scourge was here.

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Vahn (Vahnhammer): Well that escalated quickly! Anyway I am out on vacation until December. Enjoy the chapter and Happy Thanksgiving to the 'murcians reader, the rest see ya when I get back!

Icura: Warming runes are not canon. However, it wouldn't make sense to bundle everyone up in heavy fur coats, from both a Warcraft 3 and World of Warcraft perspective since many of us have seen them wear far less than warm clothing/armor. Honestly, priests and mages would probably freeze to death in their cloth armor, and they wear cloth armor because it is not that heavy. I would imagine that a fur coat would be on par or heavier than leather armor, so it would make less sense for a rogue to wear leather armor and a fur coat which would limit their agility. The last thing that tipped the scales to warming runes was the fact that if I put fur coats on everyone, they would all look the same then. All their varied armor and exposed clothing would be hidden under a fur coat. A travesty.

Sorry, it's been pretty busy lately.

Also, thank you so much for the fanart. I absolutely love it. Made it into the story's cover art. Thanks Amphion!


	13. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

Teleportation was like being put in a blender where a moment stretched to the horizon and my body felt like it was being compressed into the sea. Did that make sense? No, I wouldn't have imagined that it would, but that was the closest way to describing the sensation, the feeling of being discombobulated and spat out so violently that it was a wonder that I was still standing on my feet instead of retching on my knees. The purple arcane energy covered my vision throughout the whole process, and when it didn't, I found myself under the cloudy gray skies instead of the stalactites-filled ceiling of the cavern. However, the sights and sounds that greeted me weren't that of people welcoming us back; it was that of people fighting for their lives.

"Help me!"

"Keep your distance and put them down!"

"Stop them!"

"My leg! My leg!"

The unarmored soldier was lying on the ground, holding the bleeding stump that was her leg. She could do little but scream as the human-sized beetle crawled on top of her, stabbing its dagger-like appendages through her uniform. Two plain-clothed soldiers surrounded the beetle, stabbing it with their swords, but their weapons could only carve out grooves in its hard carapace. This scene was replicated across the courtyard as dirt exploded in numerous spots and beetles crawled out of the ensuing holes. It was a grim sight, made only grimmer by the distant sound of cannon fire and musket shots that was coming from the stone walls that formed the perimeter of the base.

Arthas stepped forward with an angry expression.

"Those with the strength to fight… To battle!" Rushing forth in huge strides, the prince lashed out with his warhammer at the beetle. The blow caught the creature above one of its foremost legs, tearing it off and making the creature fall to the ground. Immediately taking advantage of its staggered form, he finished it off by striking at its head and caving it in. Without sparing it another glance, Arthas moved onto the next target. Despite most of the accompanying soldiers being fatigued from the recent battles and disoriented by the teleportation, they shouted out their own battle cries and charged, as if invigorated by his words. While everyone was moving forward, I couldn't simply just stand still. I took a step forward—and tripped.

"Careful!" Luckily, my arm was caught. If I had actually fallen, there was a chance of being trampled on before someone noticed, especially since they were all under the almost spell-like binds of Arthas's charisma. Looking up, I found myself being pulled up by Jaina. As if worried that I would fall again, she held on to me.

Some would say that I should be more cautious because of what she did, but I saw in that strange mindscape or spiritual plane that she had been shackled against her will. That was obviously mind control, and the culprit—the orc warlock—had already been dealt with so there wasn't any reason to worry. In actuality, this was actually a boon. The fact that she was holding onto me implied that she had been paying attention to me. Jaina didn't seem the type that acted on instinct, but rather, the sort to weigh the costs and benefits. It made sense since regular magecraft was a highly academic subject, requiring years of study to produce visible results. If I looked the situation in that sense, she saved me for a reason. While some may chafe at the fact that there was an ulterior motive, to me, it presented an opportunity to get closer to her.

"My thanks for the assistance, Princess Jaina." Even as I said that, I could see that she was barely paying attention; her eyes were glued on the scene before me. The unprepared camp defenders had rallied with the prince's presence, and it certainly helped that it was armored reinforcements that had interfered into the battle. The beetles were being put down steadily enough, and those that were coming out of the tunnel holes were being slain by swords and spears before they could fully emerge. As we watched, I waited for her response patiently, but as the battle soon became one-sided and was winding down, it was clear what the results of that would be as well as Arthas's next course of action. I could still hear the distant sound of cannon fire and the occasional explosion so the greater battle was still in progress. That meant that there wasn't much time to get a conversation in so I decided to prompt her. "Princess Jaina—"

"Stop," she said. "It's Jaina. Just Jaina."

I perked up at that. It looked like I was already making headway, but I couldn't be too eager.

"I can't do that…" Fact of the matter was that she was a princess, and no matter how much accomplishment a soldier of common birth may achieve, they would never be able to match up. Fairy tales about valiant knights that rescued princesses from villains or dragons and marry them afterwards were just that—fairy tales. In reality, the knight would be gifted with money and possibly a title of nobility as a reward, but the princess would remain a fair maiden of much higher status and further interaction between the two would be highly frowned upon. Of course, I was thinking of that in terms of my own world's medieval and feudal eras so there were differences, but the similarities were close enough that I could take tidbits from my old world's knowledge and wisdom and use them here. In that sense, Arthas's and her attitude toward me could be considered quite unusual.

"We've been through this much already so there's no need for formalities."

"If you're willing to go that far…" I made sure that I had a humble but pleasant expression on my face before I glanced over to her. "Then please, call me Tanya."

Before any more could be said, the fight for the courtyard ended. Many of the soldiers, already fatigued from the previous battles in the cavern, were taking this time to rest before they had to join the main defense. As for the wounded, since this was the main base, there was luckily more than a few priests and priestesses available to handle them. Because I probably looked as tired as I felt, none of them came to ask for my help, though that may have been because Jaina was still holding onto me and glaring at many of those who approached. Also, it seemed at some point that Uther had appeared on the scene to help put down the infestation, though I wasn't sure when he had arrived. It seemed that sometime during the battle, Arthas had linked up with him, which resulted in the mentor and pupil sharing a talk between them that I could not make out from this distance. Even Muradin joined in. A minute later, Uther moved his group away, taking some of the footmen with him as he left the area.

I had to admit that I envied the prince's stamina and stubbornness. Despite putting in the same amount of working hours as me and fighting a demon lord, he seemed as eager as ever for fight while I was just barely holding on. Was this what it meant to be a paladin? A walking wall of muscle that had more stamina than sense? My musing was cut sort when Arthas soon made his way over to us, his tattered cape bellowing in his wake. Falric, Marwyn, and Muradin followed closely behind him.

"Are you two okay?"

"Better," Jaina replied. "But I doubt I can cast another spell for a while."

Jaina then look over to me and, as I did feel tired myself, I agreed with a nod. Arthas had a bitter look on his face, as if he expected this outcome.

"We'll leave half of our forces here to secure the area and destroy the tunnels," he said. "Falric, you are to lead this force."

Falric pounded a fist to his chest.

"Yes, my lord!"

"Secure the base from further attacks. It's crucial we maintain a safe zone," Arthas said before he subtly glanced at Jaina and I. "Ensure that everyone get some rest."

Falric gave a nod in understanding.

"By your orders, my liege."

I frowned. It wasn't that I didn't want to go rest and stay out of danger, but I knew how reckless Arthas was. As long as Arthas left the continent relatively intact, then most of my achievements could be considered safe from bureaucratic censoring or royal burying. Missing an arm, leg, or an eye was fine if he retired afterwards, but I doubted that it would actually stop him from fighting. I would laugh at the image of him hopping around on one foot while swinging his sword if it wasn't a very real possibility. However, I was too tired and drained to do anything about it. Even if I took a mana potion, I would more than likely be dead weight. While healing from the top of the wall was relatively safe, accidentally falling off said wall due to fatigue wasn't conductive to my future plans.

Muradin took this time to speak up.

"I'll stay as well." The dwarf held up a piece of solid dirt, hardened like rock. "This was part of the walls of the tunnels. You see how solid it is?" He tightened his grip, crumbling the piece of dirt after considerable effort. "It shouldn't be like this. I think these tunnels were prepared long before we made a base here."

"I'll let Uther know," Arthas said. "You have a plan to deal with them?"

"Aye. We can get rid of them with explosives."

"Hm? Wouldn't that collapse the ground, Muradin?"

"Eh, it'll be fine; not like we can leave them alone. They'll keep coming unless we seal them." The dwarf gave a humorous chuckle as Arthas shook his head.

"Then set it up. I'll send messengers to warn the rest of the base so they won't think that it's an enemy attack. Do not set off the explosives until then."

"Make it quick, lad. The sooner we break them down, the faster we can go concentrate on the real fight."

"Alright. I'll head out first with the troop. Marwyn, handle the matter with the messengers. Meet up with me after."

"As you command, my lord." Marwyn nodded his head and promptly took his leave.

When the prince was about to head out, Jaina raised her voice.

"Arthas..."

Arthas looked toward Jaina at her prompting.

"... be careful."

His face seemed to soften at those words.

"Stay safe, Arthas!" I chimed in.

"I-I will." As if coming out of a daze, Arthas blinked and slowly shook his head. "I better get going."

The words seemed more for himself than anyone else. The prince seemed almost unsteady enough that I would have recommended that he take a rest, but I knew that he wouldn't accept that option. As a good subordinate, it wasn't wise to call him out on it, especially in front of his followers.

Arthas briskly turned around and began walking away. Following in his wake was the healthier portion of his entourage of soldiers as well as some fresh faces from the base's interior soldiers.

When I glanced slightly to the side—since I was already leaning on her and she was supporting my weight—I saw a tired and resigned expression on her face. It was obviously the look of a person watching her lover go off to war. Despite the fact that I was still a little wary of her, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"Fear not, La—Jaina." I coughed at the pointed look she gave me. "Arthas might come back a little worse for wear, but he'll be back. He's too stubborn to die."

Apparently, my attempt at battlefield banter ended in failure. Instead of relaxing her and raising my likability as I thought it would, her expression seemed to darken even more. It seemed that I had misread the situation and used comforting battlefield sayings that weren't suitable for noble ladies. I wasn't sure exactly which words were the cause of her mood worsening, but it probably had to do with me reminding her of the situation that Arthas was in. Maybe she was trying to take her mind off of the dangerous aspects of it? In that case, I really screwed up, but I couldn't be one hundred percent sure. Since I didn't really really know the cause and to not further expound on my mistake, I kept my mouth shut as Jaina led us away. Falric had to stay here and wasn't able to accompany us, but he assigned us a guard to keep us safe while we went to get some much needed rest.

With the fort under attack, the safest place was inside the Keep at the center of the base. When we arrived there, the guards at the entrance recognized us on sight, letting us through without a hassle. The stone construction on the flooring prevented the emergence of tunnels, but to be on the safe side, we headed up the stairs to the second floor. Normally, we would have gotten separate rooms, but seeing as there was only one guard overseeing our safety, we had to share a room. He took a chair from the room and placed it just outside. I did have some measure of pity for him when I thought about the the long hours he spent awake for battle and the long hours that he will now spend looking at nothing. Looking at it from that perspective, it was hard to trust him with my safety, but there was no real alternative to fall back on so it would have to suffice.

The room itself was sparse, consisting mostly of a Queen-sized bed and a table with chairs. Considering that the Keep was relatively new, the fact that we even had furniture besides a bed was already a luxury in my opinion. Unfortunately, in the midst of all this, the awkward silence was still going on between us, even after Jaina shut the door and locked the deadbolt. I dragged two of the chairs over to the door, placing it in such a way that if the door was opened, it would push the chairs and make their legs scrape along the stone. That would be enough of an alarm, and even if they were to catch sight of the first chair before it was too late, that was what the back-up second chair was for.

"Tanya."

"Yes?"

There was a long suffering moment where she simply stared at me, but she soon shook her head.

"…never mind. We should get some rest."

Or at least, as much rest that we could with a battle raging outside. With practiced ease, we started to strip off our outer garments. We were both wearing magically enhanced robes, but even with their self-cleaning enchantments, they weren't the most comfortable of clothing. While it was still possible to sleep in them, it wasn't quite as ideal since it wouldn't result in that refreshing of a nap. Thus, it was better to take them off, especially in a situation where we weren't necessarily at risk.

Jaina used her magic to conjure some water into the metal basin, which we both then used to wash our arms, legs, and face. Once we were done, we shuffled into the bed, taking up opposite ends while sharing the fur blanket between us. The silence between us was oppressive, but even then, I could still hear the very distant sound of gunpowder and explosions. I wasn't sure how to feel about that or what I should be feeling, but just a few minutes after I closed my eyes to sleep, I heard her speak.

"…Tanya."

"Yes?"

"The man in the black suit and coat. Who was he?"

"Black suit?" I opened my eyes and turned my head to the side, only to find Jaina lying on her side, staring at me.

"He had spectacles and slicked back hair. Sharp eyes angled upward at the ends. He was wearing a tie, like a merchant."

"That's…" I started to sweat, my mind now wide awake.

"Was he the God of Light?"

"A-a-absolutely not!" I may have shouted that too loud as there was a thump at the door. I quickly lowered my voice. "He is definitely, definitely not the God of Light."

"You sound…very sure…" Jaina didn't hesitate any more. "Who is he then?"

"N-nobody."

"No, it's quite obvious that he's somebody important," Jaina refuted. "If he's not the God of Light, then is he a messenger of the God of Light?"

"He has nothing to do with the God of Light!" I denied vehemently. Jaina's expression only grew more obstinate.

"Then who is he?"

"He's…" My voice hitched in my throat. "He's just somebody who I used to know."

"I see," Jaina said. "He must be powerful in Holy magic to be able to do what he did."

"In a way."

"What was he doing in Northrend?"

"I…don't know."

"I see," Jaina slowly said. "Do you know where he is?"

"No, I don't."

"Is there any way to find him?"

"It's impossible."

"Is there really no way to find him…?" Jaina asked in an insistent tone. "Maybe if you tell me about him, we can figure out some way to find him. Tell me, how did you met him? What's he like."

Those weren't questions that I could answer. At least, not if I didn't want to be locked away in some mage's laboratory to be dissected and studied.

"I…I am sorry, but I'm not at liberty to say." I averted my eyes from Jaina's questioning gaze.

"I see…"

"W-why do you want to meet him?"

"I…" She trailed off for a moment. "I just want to thank him. For saving me."

I kept silent.

"…when he rescued me, he smiled at me. I had given up, but his smile spoke to me, like it was telling me that everything was going to be alright. I think that, more than anything, was what saved me."

Even in the lowlight, I could see the faint hint of red on her cheeks. I started to sweat again.

"Is… Is that so?"

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence between us.

"You know… Looking back on things now, I can see it more clearly." Jaina sighed. "Arthas is special to me, but there was always something more important to him. The kingdom or the war or even just a horse."

"I'm sure that you're always in his thoughts, Jaina!"

"And he is in mine," she said in almost casual way. "I know that he would go to the end of the world to save me if I was in trouble, but…he would do the same for his friends. If King Varian or Muradin got into a crisis, he would be there for them as well. What we have between us… What we had was…" She sighed again. "Why is it that I only realize it now of all times?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say. By proxy, I may have accidentally strained Arthas's relationship with his future wife.

"I think it's time for both me and Arthas to grow up."

"No!" I sat up in a rush while she stared at me with bewildered wide eyes. However, I couldn't let that dissuade me. I had spent so much time to achieve a workable social connection with her, and it was on the verge of becoming worthless. More than that, if Arthas finds out that I was responsible in some way, everything that I had worked for would go down the drain. "He loves you. I'm absolutely sure of it."

Jaina's confused expression slowly changed into a bitter smile.

"What do you think of Arthas?"

"Prince Arthas is the definition of a story book prince! He's handsome, strong, and virtuous."

I sold all of Arthas's good points to Jaina as if this was a fire sale. There were a lot of flaws to him, but the point of this was to gloss over them and emphasize his strong points. When giving an interview, it was important to show your best, but to not hide your weakness. Rather, it was better to display it when asked and then give a plan of action that shows that you are working toward improving it.

"He is charismatic and good looking. While a bit reckless, he is gradually improving. Not to mention that you would never have to worry about money or a place to live."

"I never had to worry about that in the first place."

"…and he cares deeply for you. I've seen it in how he acts around you. You match well with him in status, and your intelligence and careful nature complements him and strengthens his weaknesses. It is to the point where I am in awe of how well both of you fit together. I can only hope to become a useful and faithful subject under both of your wise rule."

Her brows furrowed as she muttered under her breath, "You…you really don't notice how he acts around you, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it." Jaina waved it off. "I just realized how much work Arthas has ahead of him."

"Building up a kingdom is difficult and endless work. I hope to be there to help both of you with it." A managerial position in the castle would be ideal, but something just as important like being an executive treasurer would be fine as well. I was confident that I could adjust to most positions and, more importantly, I would be tucked safely away within the capital.

"I'm sure you will," she vaguely said before she turned over on the bed. "I think it's time we get some rest."

That was a dismissal if I have ever heard any. Settling back down onto the bed, I stared at the ceiling for a moment. I could still hear the distant sound of the battle going on, but it had almost become something like background noise at this point. Some would say that I should be used to it by now since I had experienced this kind of thing in two lives, but it was not something that you could get used to. To equate it to ambient noise like the chirping of birds was to become too comfortable with it, enough that if a mortar fell on your head, you wouldn't even notice until you were left with half a body.

That was the deceptiveness of war. The gains were little, and one moment could end everything. It was far worse than participating in the stock market. At least, in the latter case, you would have a chance to restart if you fail. Economics was far more forgiving than a battle, and it had far more that you could gain. It was why these worlds were incomparable to my old one. It was to the point of aggravation, but I was getting too tired to care at this point.

As my eyes began to shut, I carelessly voiced out my thought that occupied my mind in a low murmur.

"I won't forgive you, Being X…"

I never noticed the other girl listening to me from the other side of the bed.

~o~

We were awakened by furious knocking. To spare the trivial details of groggily waking up and answering the door in our undergarments, I would just have to summarize it as us being told that we were to attend a meeting between all the remaining leadership of the base. Well, I didn't really mind the fact that I was seen dressed in something less than appropriate, but Jaina had acted scandalized which was, in hindsight, the correct reaction. To not act as such would fray at discipline and invite further scrupulous actions that would push at the boundaries. Rules, even unspoken social rules, were not meant to be broken since that would encourage anarchy. What separated humans and communists was the adherence to rules that made sense.

Putting that aside, we quickly washed up with the remaining water in the basin and put on our enchanted robes. After dressing and putting on our boots, we picked up our magical staffs. For all the differences between a mage and a priestess, we had similar style of equipment and gear, even if they were made of divergent materials and enchanted for different effects. Our escort was ready and waiting for us when we opened the door, though he was sporting a blush and an embarrassed expression. I didn't really think that it was something to be that shy about since there were plenty of brothels in the different cities and towns, and a soldier was likely to partake of that at least once in their lives.

Then again, he seemed like he only recently became an adult.

Whatever the case, we made our way through the corridors and hallways of the Keep. The design of the structure was simple and uniform, without the winding paths made to protect permanent castles, but that made sense. This place was only supposed to be temporary, so if the enemy made it this far, then the battle was already lost. That said, it certainly wasn't empty. There were people sporting various wounds moving through the corridors and most of the rooms were occupied. Despite that, there wasn't that much moaning and groaning going on, but I had to attribute that to their tolerance for pain and need for rest. In spite of that, I still healed as many of those as I could as I passed by, accepting their grateful looks and their murmurs of thanks. I didn't need those issuances of gratitude, though. As long as they could participate in the next battle, it would drive up my probability of survival.

In fact, I didn't hear the sound of any distant fighting. There was no cannon fire or explosions at all, which made it all the more eerie. I wasn't sure what happened with the battle, but seeing as we were still here and not evacuating, I assumed that it wasn't urgent. We made it to a short stairway that led up to a single room guarded by two armored soldiers. They did a quick check of our identities before they allowed us into the room, though they barred our escort from coming. Inside was a large rectangle table with numerous chairs. Unfortunately, more than half of them were empty.

Spotting Arthas, we walked over to him with Jaina taking a seat closest to him. I took a seat to her right. His face was rather haggard, but he nodded to us once each before he shut his eyes. I took a look around the table.

There were some faces that I recognized and some that I didn't. At the head of the table, Uther was sitting with his eyes closed. I spotted the dwarf, Muradin, and Galen Trollbane, the prince of Stromgarde. The latter waved at me, and I returned it with a brief one of my own. As for the rest, I didn't recognize them, but I could tell from their wounds and their tired expressions that they had been fighting fiercely in the previous battle. They spared me a glance, but that was it; none of them seemed in a mood for socializing.

It wasn't until a couple more people—who I didn't recognize—entered the room and took a seat that Uther finally opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. There was a flicker when his eyes traced over the empty seats, but he seemed to nod in both resignation and resoluteness.

"It seemed that we are all that is left," Uther began in a heavy tone. "You have my thanks for surviving this far. It is no small feat to make it here through the forces of the Scourge, and I wish there was more time to rest, but we do not know how long this reprieve will last. The undead gathers even now at the edge of our cannons' range, and it would be foolish to ignore their threat."

A gloomy atmosphere pervaded the room.

"We have lost many, but we must continue on," he said. "Muradin, if you would."

"Aye." Muradin stood up on top of his seat and tossed a piece of solid rock and dirt onto the table. It bounced a few times before settling at the center. Even under the torches, it glistened and reflected the light. "Those tunnels they ambushed us with weren't built in a day, lads. They're months old, made long before we landed on this ale forsaken continent. We were able to seal most of the nearby underground tunnels with explosives and earth magic, but can't say we sealed them all."

"So it was a trap." The grim, gravelly voice came from one of the stocky paladins, one whose hair and full beard was a graying white. He wore full-plate armor with a forehead protector. Propped against the side of his chair was a large stone hammer. As if sensing that I didn't know him, Jaina leaned in and whispered a name. Saidan Dathrohan, one of the five paladin founders of the Knights of the Silver Hand alongside Uther.

Uther nodded, just as grimly.

"Many of you already know by word of mouth, but I will make our situation clear. With Arthas slaying the demon lord, Mal'Ganis, the trap was triggered early by its master, an Orc warlock who tried to possess Lady Jaina through a demonic runeblade. I believe that the Orc warlock's plans were derailed when Lady Tanya freed her and destroyed the runeblade in the process."

More than a few eyes turned our way.

"The resulting foul wave of Fel magik that you all felt was from that warlock, and it sent the undead into a frenzy. The tunnels had been extensive, even reaching as far as the beach. Had we been further inward, our forces would have been stretched thin enough that we would have been decimated," Uther said before he exhaled loudly. "We were arrogant to think that we could defeat them with a mere four Legions."

Suddenly, Uther's fist slammed onto the table; if there was anyone who was angry at this statement the most, it was Uther himself. The paladin had such vivid hatred etched onto his face that none of the others at the table commented on the statement, even though I could spot Galen wanting to say something. I could imagine him shouting about the superiority of his Stromgarde's soldiers or something to that effect, but despite his almost obvious desire, he refrained from doing so.

"Any artifacts or relics taken from this cursed land needs to be inspected for foul magic, and those that hold them are to be quarantined until they can be examined for possession magic. We cannot afford traitors in our midst, not when we need to prepare for our retreat."

"Retreat?!" one of the women in attendance asked, dressed in a full-plate armor. She stood up and smacked her gauntlets against the table. "We can see this through! The Light will see to it!"

"Settle down, lass," Muradin said. "We dwarves love a good fight, but this'll be a senseless death if we stay. There are too many tunnels still open; even if we gain ground, we'll have to fight for every inch and fortify what land we gain. There's no glory in a slow death."

"I understand your frustrations. I would like nothing more than to mete out justice, but our supplies will run out long before our willpower does. We are cut off from the beach and the fleet," Uther explained. "Just as the undead backed off here, so did they for the beach. There is a mass of undead sitting between us and the beach. Supplies and reinforcements cannot reach us."

"But you have a plan, Uther?" Saidan Dathrohan looked unconcerned, even with his stern expression.

"I've been in talks with Lord Admiral Proudmoore. His marines will try and take back the beach to secure us a retreat route. When they are ready, we will set out our own forces to pincer the undead army. However, that will leave the base undermanned, and the other undead army on the other side of the base may attack in that span of time. Rather than leave good soldiers to die defending this base, we will abandon this fortification and meet up with the fleet with our entire force."

The atmosphere was tense.

"Are there any objections? Speak now, and I'll hear—"

The door slammed open as a frantic and out of breath soldier stumbled into the room.

"My lords! The fleet is under attack!"

"What?!" Uther stood up from his seat as the others quickly did the same. I was no exception.

"Three undead flying fortresses just appeared over the beach!"

Without giving a response, Uther rushed out of the room. However, it wasn't like the rest simply waited. They followed along too like a train of people, and I came along on the tail-end. As we passed through the corridor and up the stairs, I could see people frantically rushing this way and that.

When we reached the rooftop, which was high enough to overlook the walls that formed the perimeter of the base, there were already people standing on the rampart. However, they moved aside at Uther's approach, and those who were too distracted were pulled aside by their fellow soldiers. Squeezing in between the crowd, I reached the parapet that lined the rampart and looked over.

This base was situated on the side of a mountain, such that we were actually overlooking the beach even though it was a distance away. That gave us a clear enough sight to see if any forces were to bypass the fort to try to attack the beach as well as give us oversight over the entire area including the beach. That being said, what I saw wasn't promising.

The black floating fortresses that hovered over the beach were Necropolises, massive flying constructions that sported a large magical crystal at its apex that spouted out large projectiles of green magic. The green clumps moved slowly through the air in an arc, but the moment that they touched the sands of the beach, they exploded with a fury that reminded me of a battleship's main cannon.

I could see the distant silhouettes of soldiers being tossed through the air by the explosions. Even worse was that the army of undead was renewing their assault; they were swarming toward the beach and the beleaguered marines. As if that wasn't enough, on the ocean, I saw ragged and tattered ships that could only be categorized as ghost ships sailing toward the Alliance fleet from both sides.

The Alliance ships were firing frantically at the Necropolises, the encroaching undead army, and the tattered ships. While they were destroying swathes of undead foot soldiers and sinking more than a few of the enemy ships, a green shield was appearing before the floating fortresses, tanking the cannonballs without wavering.

In the midst of all this madness, a mage shoved her way through the crowd on the rampart and reached the spot in front of Uther. In her hand was an orb, and I could see the image of a uniformed man in a sort of admiral hat on it. Upon confirming who was in his sight, a voice rang out from the orb.

"Uther, gather your forces now! We can't hold on much longer."

"Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore…"

There was a grim but resolute expression on the paladin's face. However, his next words froze everyone in the vicinity into silence.

"Withdraw the fleet."

"Are you mad, Uther?!"

"Daelin, I need you to leave. Save the fleet and warn Terenas!"

"You can't be serious!"

"Jaina will be safe, I promise you. We will portal her back to Dalaran along with all we can," Uther said. "However, we cannot lose the fleet here. Warn Terenas! Tell him that we did it; we killed the dreadlord and dealt a crippling blow to the Lich King, but we are paying the price for it."

There was a moment of silence as Daelin seemed to take in Uther's demand.

"Damn you, Uther! I'm trusting you with her life!" With that said, the image of the Lord Admiral in the orb winked out of existence. As for the mage holding the orb, she looked up at Uther in horror.

"My lord…" Her words seemed to choke up in her throat. "Even with the best experts, we…we would only be able to save a seventh of our entire army, if even that…"

"Aye." Uther sighed. "But I won't be one of them."

"Hmph." Saidan Dathrohan snorted. "There are worse places to die."

"Indeed." Uther nodded his head solemnly. "Take charge of the defense, brother. I will join you shortly."

"Don't tarry too long, Uther. Wouldn't want to have to kill all of the Scourge for you." Saidan chuckled despite the morbid situation before he took his leave.

The soldiers began to disperse. From here, I could see that the mass of undead that had been staying beyond our range was now attacking us. More than that, I could see the Alliance fleet beginning to withdraw, their ground forces heading back onto their rowboats. Once they leave, all the enemy forces concentrated on the beach would turn their attention to here, including the Necropolises.

Uther turned to Arthas and Jaina who were both beginning to wake from their shock. "You two will leave first. The both of you are too important to fall here."

I wanted to raise my hand and shout, "me too!" I settled for adding it internally.

"So are you, Uther! We need your leadership!" Arthas immediately rebutted.

"Tell Alexandros that he is to lead the Silver Hand once you return," Uther said, ignoring Arthas's plea. "Always had a good head on his shoulder, that one."

"Uther!"

"Enough, Arthas!" Uther snapped at Arthas, his eyes furious for a moment before it softened. "I… I had hoped for more time… Just know that I was wrong to have left you at Stratholme, and I am sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Uther. I was…" Arthas started to argue, but he quieted down in the face of Uther's hard stare.

The battlefield was no place to kiss and make up! From this viewpoint, I could see the undead army encroaching into the range of the fort's cannons. It didn't take long before some began to fire, clouds of gunpowder echoing up in their wake. Honestly, if I was looking at all of this with an objective viewpoint, then I would have to say that…

This was Being X's plan from the start.

There was no way a massive trap of this scale, on the level of Operation Revolving Door, would have taken place otherwise. It even had the same strategy: lure the opponent deep into your territory and then spring an underground trap that would decimate their forces. It was what almost single-handedly allowed the Imperial Empire to win the war against the Francois Republic in one fell swoop, and now, it was being used against me. I had to admit, however, that while the effectiveness wasn't the same, the result was; we had clearly lost this war.

"I-I might have a way…"

Jaina's voice cut through my musing. She looked hesitant to say more.

"Don't leave us in suspense, girl," Uther said. "Out with it."

"I-I might be able to teleport everyone..."

"Are you sure you can do it?"

"...yes," she slowly said. She didn't appear completely confident, but she looked determined enough. "I think I can."

"What do you need?"

"I need all of the mages for this Uther." Jaina stared at the paladin to covey the necessity and gravity of request. "Every last one."

Galen Trollbane burst out into malicious laughter.

"That's funny. That's very funny." His laughter died on the spot like a stop button on a recorder. Instead, Galen's mouth closed into a sneer, and there was only ridicule in his eyes. "You expect to take all of our mage support just so you can gamble our lives on something you 'think' you can do?"

"And do you have any better ideas?" Arthas stepped in besides Jaina.

"If Lord Uther hadn't sent away the fleet, we could have fought our way out!"

"And then we'd arrived at a bunch of sunken ships. Uther made the right decision," Arthas said. "Jaina believes she can do it so I believe it as well."

"Just because you want to believe in your lover doesn't mean we need to." Galen crossed his arms over his chest. I could see some of the soldiers were taking his side as well.

The alternative was dying so why was there even a need to discuss this? Ridiculous. They were arguing about this when there was only one path in the first place. The problem was that Jaina looked so unsure about it that the other captains didn't have the confidence to back her up, even with Uther's support. When presenting a case to potential investors, the presenter had to have an appearance of full confidence in order to assure their audience that they completely believe in its success, even if the truth was otherwise. I had to salvage the presentation as much as I could, but my task was beginning at a more difficult starting line.

"Then you should leave first, Lord Galen." I utilized every ounce of my acting skill to be the very image of a model priestess as my eyes bored into his. "You should take a mage and escape, but I will stay. I believe in Lady Jaina, and I believe that the Light has shown us the way; all we can do is walk the path laid out in front of us."

The Light damn well better cause there was nothing else for me to fall back on. I could feel the others in the room looking at Galen, singling him out. The prince of Stromgarde met my eyes before I saw him clench his jaw.

"Stromgarde is afraid of nothing!" Galen abruptly turned to look at Jaina. "You will succeed?"

Jaina nodded.

"Then shout it with vigor!" Galen grunted. "This is why I can't trust Dalaran mages, but fine. I'll put my faith in Lady Tanya, not you. You better not fail her trust."

The surrounding people were silent, as if digesting the situation. That was, until Arthas banged the bottom of his warhammer against the stone floor.

"If this is settled, then let's get to it instead of any more worrying and grousing. I, for one, don't want to keep talking about it until the Lich King comes to join the discussion."

There was a few scattered laughter, but the mood did lighten.

"Well said. As Supreme Commander of the Alliance army, I hereby authorize this course of action so no more whining. We are wasting enough time as it is," Uther said. "We cannot hold the walls for long without magic support. Recall everyone to the Keep; we will make our last stand here."

The commanders and soldiers in attendant nodded their heads.

"Well then, get to it!" Uther bellowed.

Most of them scrambled to follow the order, quickly moving down the stairs. However, there were some who stayed behind.

"Ya sure this is the right decision?" Muradin asked. "The walls are our best chance of keeping them out. The undead haven't even reached them yet. If we abandon them now, they'll go to waste."

"They won't be able to hold it long with a depleted force. Better to abandon them now than to have the troops suffer high casualties during the fighting retreat," Uther replied. "With them here, they'll be close enough to reach the portal before it closes, and the Keep is designed for fighting the Scourge in any case."

"Then I'll have my kin build traps and seal the doorways and windows."

"My thanks, Muradin."

"Thank us by buying us a wagon of ale. Always wondered if Dalaran had ales as fancy as their robes." Muradin chuckled before leaving.

Uther turned to us.

"Arthas, Jaina, you both know what to do so go get it done," he said. "As for you, Lady Tanya, rally the clerics and position them where you think they would do the most good."

"Umm." I blinked. "Shouldn't the High Cleric or Battle Bishop be determining that?"

"Arthas, Jaina, take the rest of them and get started already." Without waiting for them to respond, Uther motioned for me to follow and began walking along the rampart. Once we reached a section that was relatively emptier, he stopped and waited for me to catch up. "It's better to talk in private; the morale of my soldiers are low as it is."

"Something happened to them?" I asked.

"They were with the reserves, tending to the wounded when we were attacked," Uther replied. "Due to your title, you're the highest ranked priestess here, and more than that, you're battle-tested."

I simply nodded. Looks like my predecessors bit the dust. Battlefield promotions weren't an uncommon occurrence, but there were very few people who would be happy about getting it in this kind of situation.

"Lady Tanya, if things become desperate, Jaina will know what to do. If that happens, I need you to get her to Arthas."

"You can count on me, Lord Uther!" The tension had fled from me as this was pretty much a confirmation that if things went south, I would be able to escape alongside Arthas and Jaina. However, that didn't mean that I could relax. It would be far better if things succeeded, and I would receive far more achievements in that case, but the fact that there was fail-safe took a lot of the fear out. Well, that didn't mean that a random monster couldn't kill me so I still had to take precautions.

"Then go prepare," Uther said with a sad smile. "There's very little time left to do so."

I smartly saluted him and took my leave.

~o~

Most of the priests who were under my command were older than me, but because of my sheer strength, I was ranked higher than them. That wasn't because of something as inane as "Might makes right" or any other anarchy-based governments. No, it was simply because they actually believed that those stronger in the Light were the ones who were most pure in intent and motivation. If there was anyone that could tell you that it was bullshit, that would be me. However, this did work out in my favor; none of them wasted time by questioning my command and there were even a few who looked worshipful. In this way, I was able to do what I did best.

Delegate.

I collected the information on their strengths and weaknesses, and they readily gave it without an ounce of suspension, believing that I would never use it for any dark and dastardly purposes. That was true, though, since I was simply using it to efficiently organize their position and make the best use of them, but someone of ill intent could have easily betrayed them with it. I would tell them to be more careful, if it weren't so detrimental to my own status. In any case, I assigned them to positions where they would be out of danger, but they would be able to provide support to the various groups of fighters blocking key positions.

To make it harder for ghouls to climb the Keep's walls, we poured cooking oil down the stone walls. While it wouldn't deter a truly clever enemy, I was counting on the undead not having enough of a brain left to overcome the problem. The purpose of it was to make them go through the front doors on the ground floor which would act as a chokepoint. From there, our melee forces could slowly retreat through the corridors and hallways, making their way up the stairs floor by floor. The windows of the upper floors and ramparts of the roof would be manned by archers, crossbowmen, and gunners that would rain down on the enemy forces crowding around the front entrance of the Keep.

Since Jaina and the mages were setting up their teleportation runes in the inner courtyard of the Keep, all the doors and windows of the Keep that led to there were sealed shut. Instead, we tied ropes from the rampart so that we could rappel down. That meant that the fighting would start at the entrance on the bottom floor and our forces would slowly retreat upwards. The ramparts at the top would be the last defenses, and when the mages were done with their runes and rituals, we would then use the ropes to escape to the inner courtyard to reach the portal. This was all essentially a large scale delaying tactic.

That, and we were hoping that if the undead jumped off the top floor, they would hit the grounds of the inner courtyard and break all the bones in their rotting bodies.

The only worrying part was the gargoyles. That was why I was on the ramparts instead of at the ground floor with Arthas. Or at least, that was my official reason. The true reason was because I now had sight on Jaina and the mages working in the courtyard. I had been with Arthas enough that I knew that he was going to do something reckless at the last second like stay behind. Therefore, instead of forcing him, the easiest method was to bring Jaina to him instead. From here, I could slide down the rope, retrieve Jaina, climb the rope, and make our way down the stairs from the rampart. A bit time consuming, but unfortunately, this was the fastest method possible.

All of this positioning had been meticulously planned, and I had come up with many of the traps and stalling tactics, enough that nobody could say that I wasn't instrumental in the plan's creation.

Which was why this was all the more aggravating.

"Greetings, living meatbags! You are surrounded and on the edge of a grand new opportunity! The mighty Lich King has deemed you all worthy of his mercy! Surrender and join us! If you join now, you need not be one of these brainless corpses, but an eternal sentient warrior of the afterlife!"

The Lich standing—floating—in front of the stationary army of undead creatures that surrounding the Keep on all sides was taking his time to advertise.

Well, it didn't hurt to engage him in conversation.

"Does it come with three meals a day?!" I shouted back at him.

There was a chorus of laughter that startled me. I glanced to my left and right, seeing the dwarves, humans, and gnomes on the rampart with me laughing in a jeering manner at the undead. That appeared to have eased the tension, but it also infuriated the Lich.

"You wretch! The Lich King has given us a special order to bring you to him alive. You will suffer worse than those who stand with you!"

Instead of trading barbs like some bad movie, I decided the best course of action was to hit him with one of my stronger attacks. Gathering the holy magic in my body, I held out my hand and released a Penance spell. While most Penance spells usually came with only three holy strike of holy energy, mine came with five orbs that flew through the air like arrows. The Lich, seeing the attack coming, grabbed a nearby ghoul with his bony hand and threw him up into the air in front of the holy orbs. The ghoul exploded with an unearthly screech, its body parts disintegrating even as it fell.

With that, the Lich swung his hand down, commanding the army of undead at his back to surge forward in an unholy mass of charging bodies. Cannons began to fire first with arrows and bullets soon raining down as the undead horde closed the distance. The battle began sloppily for both sides. There was no real tactic or strategy; the undead were simply doing their best to swarm the entrance to the Keep. However, our defenses had no gaps for them to slip through. The chokepoint was so tightly packed by melee warriors and the undead that it was a slow affair, but despite that, the undead were pushing back our Alliance soldiers into the building.

The gargoyles in the air were more of a threat. Like murder of ravens, they swarmed together and dived toward the ramparts, unheeding of the arrows and bullets that clipped their wings and shattered their fragile bodies. I was casting my spells frantically, healing up the defenders when I could. The problem was that the force of the dives created a devastating momentum, such that the impact was enough to cut off limbs or send soldiers falling off the rampart. Downing a mana potion, I assisted in attacking the gargoyles when there weren't anybody in desperate need of healing.

Thankfully, we didn't need to use this desperate last stand formation for long as I heard Jaina's cry of victory and the sound of people being teleported far below. It was a rather distinct sound, enough that it turned more than a few people's attention from the battle.

"EVERYONE TO THE PORTAL!" Uther's bellow could be heard both within and outside the Keep.

The soldiers on the rampart, at least those who weren't defending against the gargoyle's assault, were sliding down the ropes and onto the grounds of the inner courtyard. Some didn't even wait for their turn, simply jumping off the rampart. While a normal person would have died from a straight fall at this height or at least would be crippled, I had almost forgotten how sturdier the humans of Azeroth were; after landing with a grunt, they merely took a couple of moments to shrug off the pain and run to the large glowing circular rune in the center of the courtyard. Those who stepped into it disappeared in a small flash of light.

"Go!" Despite my command, some of the archers and gunners stayed behind with me to hold back the gargoyle swarm. Even as the soldiers from the other floors began appearing on the rampart from the stairs, the threat of the gargoyle swarm wasn't something that simply disappeared. As much as I didn't want to stay, it would be worse for this to fall before Arthas could get here. I kept up the battle as more and more Alliance soldiers came up onto the rampart and then dropped down into the inner courtyard.

I fired off another Penance spell, letting the holy orbs fly out and smash into the gargoyle. It screeched as the parts touched began to disintegrate. It crashed onto the rampart, losing an arm and leg in the process. Despite that, it wiggled and crawled, its clawed hand reaching out randomly for any nearby passersby. That was, until Arthas's boot stomped down on its head, crushing its skull in a splatter of unknown fluids.

"Tanya! It's time to leave!" Without waiting for a response, Arthas grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. My chest and abdomen slammed hard into his over-sized pauldrons, knocking the breath out of me. I was practically flopped over his pauldron, even as he leapt off the rampart. The impact from landing in the inner courtyard sent me bouncing up and down on his pauldron, knocking the breath out of me again. Unwittingly, tears gathered at the edges of my eyes. Being hauled like a sack of rice was worse than being princess carried.

We were among the last so I could see the gargoyle swarm diving for us while the undead ghouls on the rampart were jumping down. Most didn't survive the fall, but the ones landing on their predecessors' corpses were back on their feet in moments, charging for us. Just before they could reach us, Arthas stepped into the circular rune, and the world around me disappeared in a flash of light.

The trip through the portal was disorienting and discomforting, but the end was like the unveiling of a curtain. When the light faded, I could see buildings with tall white spire all around me, each of them ending with a large purple crystal at the very top reminiscence of a candle's fire. There were already tons of soldiers here, and many newcomer mages attending to them. So this was Dalaran.

From my position on Arthas's pauldron, I couldn't get a good view so I tried to raise my head higher. Unfortunately, that was the last straw for me.

I puked over the back of his tattered cape.

Thank goodness it was over.

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Icura: I think I am finally over reforged.

Vahn (Vahnhammer): What Icura say. Gotta say as I worked on this, i gradually regain my passion for it. Then we trash that version and remade this chapter until it was what we were happy with. This is version...shit version 4th? 5th? Hope you guys like it!


	14. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

Three weeks after the retreat…

The approaching steps of the waiter was enough to bring all conversation at the small, round table to a stop. Impeccably dressed and wearing a practiced smile that would have melted the hearts of many teenage maidens, he stopped at our table while balancing a tray on one hand. With smooth movements that could only have come from years of experience, he took a cup off the tray and set it down on the saucer in front of me, repeating the action with my two companions. As the aroma of freshly made coffee wafted up to my nose, I was tempted to take a sip right then and there, but it wouldn't adhere to decorum if I started before my companions could even get their own cups. It was only after he finished that he graced us each with a subtle look.

"If you ladies need anything, be sure to let me know."

As expected of a high class cafe.

I simply nodded and said my thanks. My two companions followed my example shortly thereafter, though one of them had slightly heated cheeks. The waiter bowed his head and began walking away. My companions were staring openly at his back with some levels of interest, but what I was paying attention to was something different. It was the fact that every other patron in the cafe was staring at us, some openly while others subtly. Even after a week in the Capital, I still hadn't gotten used to all the attention. As my two companions were distracted by the waiter who was going around to different tables, I slowly lifted my cup of coffee, taking in the scent. It was a familiar and unfamiliar smell, and a quick sip told me that it was a bit sweeter than I was used to. Still, the differences weren't bad.

The quality of coffee dictated the degree of civilization. That was the honest thought that came through my mind, but there was a time where coffee had only been a tool to me. In my first life, it was simply something that should be drunk only when necessary. My second life had taught me differently. My opinions changed after experiencing around the clock artillery bombardment that made sleeping a luxury that was difficult to indulge in. Just the fact that there was a plate of biscotti which I could dip into my cup would have been more than enough to bring me to tears back then. The absence of coffee made for such horrible times.

The campaign had obviously been a failure, and many of the armies had been lost. However, it wasn't a complete catastrophe; the fact that we made it back with more than half the Legions was a fact worth celebrating. King Terenas Menethil was quick to order a defensive fleet line along the northern shores to prevent any undead ships from reaching the Eastern Kingdoms. Already, there had been several small groups of broken down ships that had tried to break through the line.

On the home front, the Inquisition had been hard at work to root out any lingering cultists, but the ones who remained were firmly dug in and hidden from sight. Still, the fact that they were patrolling and doing inspections was enough to keep the cultists from raising their heads for the foreseeable future. There were rumors here and there, things attributed to the cultists, but most of them were speculations or people just mistaking events as their doing. It reminded me of a witch hunt, though a bit more milder since they weren't burning people at the stake. Still, it would probably be something that Arthas would need to pay attention to and reign in if it got out of hand.

As for my two companions, well…

"Ah! Tanya, why did you drink that so fast!"

"The frivolous girl is right. You should have waited, Lady Tanya. You never know when there may be poison in it." There was a pause. "And Inquisitor Whitemane, how many times do I have to tell you? You have to call her by her title or at least a part of it. Her Holy Saintess, Lady Tanya the Holy of the Church of Light."

"And like I said before, just call me Sally, _Paley_."

"It's Confessor Paletress! Say it properly!"

I listened quietly as they bickered, taking another sip of my coffee. They were technically my bodyguards or lackeys, much in the same way that Visha was, the only difference being that I now had two of them. The one sitting to my left at the small round table was Sally Whitemane. She was a beautiful woman with white hair, but what was more important was that she was one of the few that I considered a…friend back from when I was an acolyte in training. She was wearing the same white priestess robes that I was wearing except with metallic red trimming, a stylistic choice. Some priests did it as a vanity, a way to differentiate themselves from the normal white robes of their peers. The robes did nothing to hide her attractive figure which could turn more than a few heads. While she didn't participate in the Northrend campaign, the fact that she had high potential and that she had a connection to me ensured her placement in my entourage.

Besides, I had heard her inquisitorial group had the highest prosecution rate of any others. Apparently, she took to it with such zeal and fervor that even the rumor of her coming to a town was enough to make any hiding cultists flee immediately. I wasn't sure if it was true or just propaganda, but if it was real, then it had my seal of approval.

The one sitting to my left was a person that I hadn't never met before until a few weeks ago. Confessor Paletress was her name and title, and to this day, I still hadn't gotten a first name out of her. She wore the same white robes but with silver trimmings. No, not the silver of Lordaeron; it was a more bright and metallic silver on the trimmings. A more modest vanity than Whitemane's but it was one nonetheless. Her appearance which consist of auburn hair along with a baby-like innocent face belied her strict personality that was a bit over the top. It could also be part of her worshipful nature since she had been at Northrend and had seen some of what I had done there. I had a suspicion that she was assigned as my bodyguard to counter Sally's rather carefree nature.

Of course, I had no say in any of this. By the time we had all been transported from Dalaran, the Church had already spread word about me. To offset the disaster that was the Northrend campaign, they had publicly and vigorously marketed my achievements and my image. Basically, they made me into an idol. Instead of a cushy position behind a desk, I was forced into being a public relation manager.

Even now, I could feel all the gazes staring into the back of my head. I could even see a small scattering of people outside the cafe, just peeking in to get a glimpse of me. It honestly wasn't what I was expecting when I first arrived. Even in the Imperial Empire, when they marketed me as the ideal soldier, not many believed the propaganda due to my very young age. Most of my fame was internally with the army and navy, but even then, there were far more looks of surprise than recognition. Now, I was being subjected to awe-filled gazes and fans coming up to me to receive my "blessing" almost for the whole time that I had been in the Capitol. Not even the parade in Stratholme back with curing the plague could prepare me for this.

I had asked to receive specific instructions. What I had received was a note to "be myself." I wasn't sure what that meant, but I conducted it the way that I could remember how. Unfortunately, I didn't know much; I never had much of an interest in idols in Japan. My knowledge of them consisted of dancing and singing as well as public relation events and merchandising. These were out of my expertise, but the job mainly consisted of meets and greets in the Capital as well as showing a presence to raise morale so it was far easier work than being under siege from the undead. Therefore, I resolved to do my best to learn.

I tried singing and dancing in front of a mirror, but that effort had yielded less than I expected, especially with my sparse knowledge. I had to eventually enlist Sally and Paletress into my efforts, which had mixed results. Sally had called my dancing a deadly weapon while Paltress refused to answer or look me in the eye when I asked her about it. I could only resolve to continue my self-improvement.

Despite everything new in my life, things had fallen into somewhat of a routine. Walking around the city, taking meals at different restaurants, meeting with dignitaries, working for a little while in the hospitals, and having little chats with people on the side of the road. It was a rather calm sense of normality after everything that had happened. If I had to put my finger on it, this was…

Wait.

It couldn't be, could it? I quickly covered my mouth to hide the image of my jaw dropping open in a barbaric way. I wasn't an orc after all.

Still…

"Lady Tanya?"

I heard Paletress's concern, but I ignored it as my mind shifted through everything.

Di—Did I win? The life that Being X denied me, wasn't I wonderfully living it right now?

Ah! That was right! I was! This was the life you denied me, Being X!

I had won!

"Ah, Tanya, what's got you so happy?" Sally was smiling brightly, as if infected by my mood.

"Again, Inquisitor Whitemane, must I always have to remind you to call her Holiness by her esteemed title? Please say it properly!" In contrast, Paletress was glaring at the other girl.

I smiled as they continued to bicker. I swore these two got along as well as oil and water, almost as if they were from two separate factions, but I was too preoccupied to care. Taking one of the biscotti, I dipped it in my coffee before I took a bite out of it. Perfectly balanced between the hardened dessert and the softening effect of the coffee, it created a sensation on my tongue that was highly addicting, something that would have been impossible for me to imagine tasting just a few weeks ago. Was this happiness?

"Sally, Paletress." The moment I called their names, they both dropped their argument and turned their attention to me. "What's on the schedule today?"

Honestly, I already knew what I needed to do today, but this was also routine for me. Besides, I would prefer to confirm rather than assume. Assumption was the father of mistakes.

"Lady Tanya, your entire schedule had been cleared for today in preparation for the ball tonight."

"That's right! We have to go pick up your dress, Tanya."

The cup that I had been lifting froze in my hand. I really had forgotten.

~o~

The Lordaeron Great Hall was a massive hall built on the grounds of the palace. It was a place where grand parties and balls that only those of high nobility, high status, or high achievement could attend. That was because this was essentially a forum for high society, a place where deals of great influence and money were conducted under the bright lights of the many diamond chandeliers that illuminated the hall. An orchestra sat on the upper levels, playing refined music that gave ambiance to the event.

It was within this massively over decorated hall that I found myself in, wearing a white vestment that seemed a lot closer to a dress than priestly garbs. It was supposed to be something appropriate for the ball, but with the limitations of my clerical duties, I had thought that it would be a lot more conservative. Instead, it felt more like a gown with thin fabric, no tabard, and a whole lot of ruffles, enough to remind me of an overdressed dog. While it did indeed have a resemblance to priestly wears, it was a faint one at best or maybe a scandalous version of it at worst. It emphasized my modest bust, pushing it upward and squishing them together, though not uncomfortably so. I did note that Sally was envious that I didn't need a corset while she and Paletress did, though I couldn't really see the benefits of that; it wasn't like we were going to be wearing that everyday.

As if to differentiate themselves from me, the two priestesses took on similar dresses but with their own custom cuts. Sally's outfit emphasized her thighs and backside. Paletress had a more conservative one that seemed to highlight how innocent and modest she looked, which was a stark contrast with her actual rigid personality. While they were separate from me, mingling with some guests, I could tell that they still kept an eye on me to make sure I was safe. Though, for an assassin to get into this place would have to be one on the level of a king slayer. Not impossible, but highly improbable due to the level of security.

In the corners of the room as well as the shadows behind pillars, full-plated knights had been stationed, acting almost as statues. They didn't respond to any of the guests' prompting or prodding, but I could tell, even though their heads weren't moving, that their eyes were constantly looking around as if they were security cameras. There was no doubt in my mind that they were strong, though probably not as strong as Arthas or Uther. One of them, noticing my gaze, gave me a subtle nod. With his faceplate up, there was no way to tell who he was and I wasn't likely to remember in any case so I didn't bother to try. Instead, I simply returned his nod with one of my own. He seemed to shuffle a bit at that, breaking his unmoving routine and attracting nearby patrons to prod him once more.

I turned my eyes to the rest of the venue. There were a collection of different races at this ball from the many different nations of the Eastern Kingdoms. I could see the dwarves from both Ironforge and Northeron intermingling with humans from the seven human kingdoms, differentiated by their skin color and style of clothing. The high elves of Silvermoon—smaller of group than the others—were in deep discussions with the gnomes of Gnomeregan, possibly to set up some kind of trade deal. Most of all, across the marble floor where many partners were conducting ballroom dancing, Arthas and Jaina were chatting it up nicely. Arthas was in high formal wear, a suit and tie that seemed to fit him rather well despite his muscular build. In contrast, Jaina was in a lovely sea green dress that made her beauty more devastating. As if noticing my gaze, she turned her head my way as her eyes caught mine. We stared at each other for a moment before a small half-smile came to her lips. However, that was more than enough to bring me joy; it seemed like all my work was paying off.

I returned her half-smile with a bright one of my own. The connection that I had to both the future king and queen was solid enough that my future was set. Of course, there was no reason not to make more connections, and where better than my birthplace. Turning away, I walked over to the area that contained a blue banner depicting a gold lion, the insignia of Stormwind. Even as I approached, I could see a dark-haired man with a young blond boy talking with a small male gnome. That had to be Varian Wrynn—the King of Stormwind—with his son, and they seemed to be in a deep conversation with the Gnome leader, Gelbin Mekkatorque.

Since I knew about this ball beforehand, I had taken the time to study up the drawn image and known information about important individuals. It was necessary when dealing with foreign businessmen that a certain level of their information was internalized in order to be able to use that to my advantage during conversation and negotiation. It was easier to make them comfortable and to connect with them If I could maneuver the conversation into the direction that would make them let down their guard. Knowing a bit about their nation and culture would also prevent any faux pas from happening. That said, even though I knew the techniques for social relations by heart, my success had been spotty at best. I had been told by coworkers that I had been either too fast or too slow with certain responses, resulting in those businessmen becoming uncomfortable. However, persistence and the drive for self-improvement was the cornerstone of success.

As I got closer, I could see their features more clearly. While Arthas had a softer, more princely charm that some would say was picture perfect for a fairy tale story, Varian had a more rugged look that wouldn't have been out of place in those trashy novels that my former female coworkers used to read in their spare time. However, when my eyes came down to his son, Anduin Wrynn, I couldn't help but notice how different the young boy looked. With blond hair that contrasted his father's dark hair as well as more softer, almost effeminate looks, I would have mistaken Anduin as someone else's son if it weren't for his similar nose structure. Still, I would imagine that asking for a DNA test wouldn't be out of place, if that technology existed in this world. As for the gnome, Gelbin Mekkatorque had an older look to him with his bald hair and a white beard that extended to his mustache. Even his bushy eyebrows were white.

"Thank you for saving Gnomeregan, King Wrynn. We owe you the deepest of debts, and I promise we'll repay it."

"That's enough, Gelbin. I didn't do what I did for compensation. Your people came to our aid in our greatest time of need and even constructed the Tram system to make transversing to Ironforge far easier. We must do what we can do for you and your people. I will be sending another ten thousand to help secure the area as you rebuild."

"I cannot possibly ask that of the Alliance. The Northrend campaign has taken its toll after all."

"This is not the Alliance's forces, but my own, Gelbin."

However, theirs was a conversation that I couldn't interrupt. It was obviously a chat about national matters so I couldn't put myself into their talks without the possibility of offending one or both parties. Maybe it wouldn't, but risk management was all about knowing when to not take unnecessary risks. There would always be another time. Maybe even later in the evening.

Taking a look around the hall, I could see more gnomes than I had ever seen in my life. While they hadn't directly participated in the Northrend campaign, their inventions as well as their weapon and ammunition production had been essential in taking down the Necropolises, gargoyles, and swathes of undead. We probably wouldn't have initially done as well as we did without their weapons and supplies. With the gnomes and even the elves taking part in this ball, it seemed like the Alliance was growing stronger than ever, even with the losses that had been taken.

"Well, you're certainly dressed up tonight." It was a rough and somewhat suave voice that brought my attention to a familiar man stepping up to me. Galen Trollbane. He was dressed in royal red and had groomed himself to look as charming as possible with his heavily combed hair. There was even a flowery scent on him that was no doubt some kind of cologne.

"Lord Galen."

"Call me Galen. After all, you and I escaped death together, didn't we?" Galen had an intense gaze that made me feel wary, even though I wasn't quite sure why. "So how about I just call you Tanya as well? Does that sound good to you?"

He reached for my hand, but I instinctively pulled it back. The prince looked stun. However, that only lasted for a moment. He reached again for my hand, though this time, he was a little quicker and forceful.

Of course, that was when Jaina stepped in between us.

"Pardon me, Lord Trollbane," Jaina said with a smile that was on a borderline with a smirk. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have business with Lady Tanya."

Galen glared at her.

"Lady Jaina, what are you—"

"I'm sure one of these other lovely ladies here will be more than happy to keep you company in the meantime. Come, Tanya."

Without waiting for a reply, Jaina grabbed my wrist and pulled me away, leaving the stunned Prince of Stromgarde to simply stare at our retreating backs. As we moved away, I looked around for my two lackeys. Honestly, they should have been the first ones to intercede, but when I spotted them, I found out why they didn't. Sally Whitemane and Paletress were chatting it up with Falric and Marwyn, fiddling with their hair and giggling like flirty office ladies. Honestly, I couldn't begrudge them; if they were trying to seek the best possible prospects for their future, then the two bodyguards of Arthas were pretty high up there. If they really wanted it, I could probably help them out with it later after the ball.

"Lady Jaina—"

"I told you before. Just call me Jaina." She glanced my way to give me a reproachful look. "All my friends do."

I was inwardly bursting with joy. This was a one hundred percent confirmation that I had a royal backer. My good life was here at last! Eat shit, Being X!

"Jaina it is then," I quickly said to appease her. "How have you been since the…"

As I trailed off, Jaina gave a wry smile.

"Busy. With being debriefed by the Kirin Tor, negotiating with Silvermoon on behalf of the Alliance, and researching at the Cleric Conclave, all of my time had been taken up."

"The Cleric Conclave?" I blinked in confusion. "There's nothing there but a bunch of green clerics in training and musty old books and tomes."

"Exactly."

I didn't really understand, but before I could ask, Jaina pulled me up to a waiting Arthas. He gave a playful half-glare at Jaina, contrasted by the smile on his lips. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like they were flirting with each other for a moment there, right in front of me. If that was the case, it looked like they were at a really good place in their relationship at this point.

"Arthas was quite moody earlier, you know," Jaina said in a teasing voice to Arthas who turned his glare into a glower. "So I brought his favorite priestess to heal him of his foul mood. Tell me, Arthas. Is it working?"

I knew an opening in a royal banter when I saw one so I snapped out a smart salute.

"At your service, Your Highness!"

Arthas seemed immensely embarrassed by my salute so I had probably done a faux pas. I quickly dropped it, especially when I heard Jaina snickering beside me. She looked amused and had a mischievous expression that reminded me of my former right hand, Visha, when she was up to no good. Two lifetimes as a girl and I still couldn't understand women.

"Well, I helped you this far, Arthas. Don't screw up." Jaina released my wrist and then lightly pushed me toward Arthas. When I glanced back at her, she said, "Come to me later if you have any questions."

With that strange statement, Jaina elegantly walked away into the crowd.

"Tanya."

I turned back to Arthas, but I was taken aback the moment I saw the expression on his face. He looked like he was getting ready for combat. I would know, since I had seen that exact same expression on his face for the better part of the last three months.

"Your Highness?" In response to my question and confusion, Arthas extended his hand to me.

"Will you do me the honor of a dance?"

"I'm…not very good at it, Your Highness." This was an understatement.

"That doesn't matter to me," Arthas said. "And call me Arthas. Just…Arthas."

"Um, okay, Arthas." There wasn't much else I could say to dissuade him. As much as I didn't want to dance, there wasn't anything I could say that wouldn't come off as offensive. Besides, I had already given him a warning, but if he wanted to dance with what Sally had called a deadly weapon, there wasn't much else that I could do but resign myself to my fate.

Arthas took me by my hand and led me to the dance floor. It was filled with nobles and lords dancing slowly, but even then, I could feel plenty of eyes on us, some of which were glares coming from the younger women.

"Don't mind them; they're envious that they aren't you," Arthas said in a lowered tone.

Soon enough, the dance floor became filled with people who I recognized. Muradin was partnered with a female gnome with hair tied in twin pigtails. Falric and Marwyn were dancing with Whitemane and Paletress respectively, each taking up flanking positions on either side of me and Arthas on the dance floor. The other standout was Galen with a dark haired beauty who I recognized as a mage from Stormwind. Lady Prestor if I recalled correctly. Those two seemed to be chatting it up quite well.

"Tanya." Arthas's prompting brought my attention back to him. "Keep your eyes on me."

"I'm sor—"

"Tanya." Each of Arthas's hands clasped one of mine. "I don't need your apology. Only your attention."

As we began to dance to the music, Arthas pulled me in closer. I was pretty sure I was stepping on his foot every other note, but when I tried to look down at my feet, he stopped me with a word and told me to keep my eyes on him. We were honestly a bit closer than I thought we should be, but it wasn't uncomfortable, though I was pretty sure that his feet were probably hurting by now.

"Thank you." Arthas locked eyes with me, as if to try to convey some kind of emotion to me. While I understood the concept, I didn't really understand what he was trying to convey. "For staying with me through everything."

A feeling that I rarely experienced blossomed in my chest. It was the same feeling that I hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that I had experienced when I had gotten into the best university in Japan. The same one when I had my first promotion in the company. The exact same one when I was given a substantial bonus for my work.

Appreciation of my effort.

During my second life, I had worked so very hard for the Imperial army, but I kept being screwed over and over, time and time again. The appreciation that I had received was mostly just empty platitude and piles of more work. Truth be told, even in this new world, I had felt under-appreciated for the longest time, but it appeared that my work didn't go as unnoticed as I thought.

My career was set. My connections had been made. There was nothing unclear about this.

My victory is cemented, you shitty Being X!

Real joy showed up on my face as I gave Arthas a genuine smile.

"I couldn't leave you."

It wasn't a lie. If I had left, I probably would have been executed. The answer, however, made Arthas smile very widely, and the conversation stopped there. That was when I noticed Jaina and Varian stepping onto the dance floor. They moved in together, talking to each other in whispers by their ears in a way that was far too intimate for normal dance partners. In fact, they were leaning in too close to each other, and when I got a glimpse of Varian's eyes, I saw that he wasn't looking at her. He was occasionally peeking down at her cleavage. More than that, Jaina didn't seem to mind it at all.

This…

When did this happen? How could this have happened?!

Suddenly, another, more important thought occurred to me. Arthas. What did Arthas think about this?! I turned my incredulous gaze back to Arthas, only to find him looking at them with a smile on his face.

There didn't seem to be any anger, jealousy, or even loathing. Only a gentle, soft smile.

"A-Arthas," I tentatively brooch. "Is this okay with you…?"

The Prince of Lordaeron looked back to me with a perplexed expression.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

My mind was spinning, enough that I felt like I was tripping over my feet. Did Arthas have a fetish for being cuckolded?!

W-Well, I supposed royalty are wont to do as royalty does…

"They are both royalty. I'm sure Lord Daelin wouldn't object."

I stopped dancing, feeling stunned by his answer.

"B-b-b-b-but you and Jaina!"

Arthas smiled gently as he turned his gaze back at me, his eyes holding hints of amusement.

"We talked," he began, his expression peaceful as he turned his eyes back to Jaina. "We talked for a very long time and bared our souls to one another."

Then how did this happened?! Without turning to look at me, Arthas continued.

"However, we decided that it was time to grow up. We're no longer as young or as naive as we once were."

I winced at that. Did Jaina reject him? I almost felt pity for Arthas, but not as much pity as what he would soon receive from the populace.

"We've decided to remain friends," he said. "We're different people now, and we need people who can understand us."

I chewed on that little snippet from Arthas as I slowly nodded. If their relationship was as stagnant as he said, then it couldn't be helped.

"Besides," Arthas said, "I feel Varian would be the only one in the world worthy of Jaina. I hope they find happiness with each other."

Even though I had now accepted this outcome, my mind was racing to keep pace with the changing geopolitical landscape. Without Arthas and Jaina, the beloved power couple, Stormwind's position would be stronger due to Varian's potential courtship to the Kul Tiran princess. Then where would that leave Arthas? What if the new girl that he courted hates my guts?

Damn it, Arthas, you selfish bastard! I was just making headway with Jaina! Now, I had to start from the ground up again! Shit...maybe he already had someone in mind.

"Uh...Arthas," I began hesitantly. "If Jaina has Varian...where does that leave you?"

When I asked that, I could see four incredulous gazes focusing in on me. Two from Arthas's bodyguards and two more from their dance partners, my very own bodyguards. However, my attention was brought back to Arthas when he began to speak.

"Me?" Arthas looked at me with bemused expression. "Well, Tanya…"

I felt him place his hands on my arms and pull me in closer as he stared at me with something that I couldn't mistake for anything but affection.

"I have you."

Oh. That's good I gue—

"...wait, what?"

~o~

Authors' Notes:

Vahnhammer: And that's that for the story proper, Epilogue next and final note! Enjoy!

Icura: I am Icura. Also, Adam, if you are reading this, write your story already!


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

By Icura and Vahn

~o~

_**\- Except from the Journals of Jaina Proudmoore- Wrynn, Her Royal Highness Queen of Stormwind, Leader of the Kirin Tor. 75 AoC (Age of Chaos)**_

When I reflect on my friend, Tanya, I see clearly now that she was just a young girl who wanted very little in a dangerous world. Though it took awhile for my good friend, King Arthas, to woo her, and their union changed Lordaeron for the better.

Even now, the Alliance is stronger and more united than we could ever have thought possible thanks in a large part to her innovative ideas and how she executed them. It is a shame that such an effort by her drove the Bronze Dragon flight insane. Their constant attacks became too much, forcing us to put down Nozdormu, the Bronze Dragon Aspect. To the very end, he insisted on trying to turn everything back to the right path.

Apparently, this path was the complete destruction of my kind, the fall of one of the many of the Horde champions, and the destruction of the Elven homelands. There was little wonder that it did not sit well with many. It was unfortunate that the Bronze Flight had to be hunted to extinction or as close as they could get to it to prevent them from undermining us through their powers over time. There was still much we could have learned from them, but like Deathwing's brood, I have not seen a Bronze in over ten years. A shame really.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, Tanya. I believe Tanya in the future will be remembered as the greatest Queen to ever grace the human kingdoms. She is revered by the people as the Holy, along with other titles such as the Holy Saintess, Bearer of Light, Confessor Mother, and a slew of others. Her innovations and streamlining of both the military and "private sector" (a new term for merchants) has united the races of Azeroth like never before. It is just unfortunate that throughout her reign with Arthas, she keeps trying to step down, saying that her "term" was over.

Who would be stupid enough to get rid of a Queen so wonderful?

~o~

_**\- Recollections from Thrall, Son of Durotan, Vol 2 of Expansion of the Horde. **_

Three years after our arrival in Kalimdor, history will consider it a failure on my part that we eventually went to war with the Night Elves over resources. We had millions of mouths to feed and the Night Elves'…generosity was inadequate. I had offered more than fair terms as the other leaders of the Horde could attest to, but the Night Elves were too stubborn, too set in their traditions. So we carried out our own traditions and did as our ancestors did. We took from them everything.

Our tide of war was unstoppable. The Night Elves retaliated in the dead of night, under their worshipped moon, but our Horde could not be stopped. The Taurens were hesitant at first, but they eventually came to our side. The Night Elves had many allies, but they were too arrogant in their own strength to call them, coming at us with their own forces instead of a unified alliance. Our biggest strength was our unity, and we were able to annex and destroy many of the Night elves' bases and resources. Several of the goblin trade princes, seeing our string of victories, petitioned to join us. I saw no reason to refuse.

While much more savage and physically stronger than their Lordaeron counterparts, they were ultimately unable to match our might. In their desperation, they called upon their Demi-God, Cenarius, to join the war.

A Demi-God that Grom and I slew. It was a fierce battle, but even the divine falls before Orcish strength. Combined with their armies' defeat, we sent them reeling out of Ashenvale.

The Goblins were quick to use their shredders to harvest the lumber we needed. Their explosives made short work of the mines and their mountain giant defenders. However, knowing now what I did of their many allies who they still did not call upon despite being on the losing end of the war, I cannot help but think that if they did call upon them, we would have encountered a challenge more worthy of our attention.

Be that as it may, war is war. As Grom would say, "If they wanted to weaken themselves, who am I to deny their skulls' wish to meet my axe."

Victory was well within our grasp, but then our old foes from across the seas followed us to this land.

The Humans.

I would learn later that the Night Elves' goddess Elune granted their High Priestess a vision, and while we were stripping Ashenvale of everything it had, they sailed east to Lordaeron to ask for aid.

I do not know how they got the Humans to agree, but they arrived with a massive fleet. It was worrying. They had defeated us once before and kept us for many years in bondage and slavery. If they force an attack, we would be pinned between them and the Night Elves but to my surprise they wanted to talk.

I was prepared for war as were the Horde. We were not, however, prepared for their offer of peace. So rather than lose even more Horde lives, I decided to agree to an armistice and hear what they had to say.

At the head of their procession was their High Queen, better known as Tanya the Holy. The moment I saw her, I thought that she was Taretha reborn, but where Taretha had a gentle air about her, the High Queen was a hardened veteran, her face looking as if cut from stone. Then she said four words that would later become dreaded in all territories of the Horde.

"I've come to negotiate."

Keeping records, and papers, and other forms of record was not the Orc's way nor was it the Troll's or the Tauren's. I charged the goblin princes with negotiating, but I had the final word. The human Queen thrives in such an environment like a shark to water. Many of what they talked about went over my head like compensation, macroeconomic policies, investments, stock options, and trade contracts. The negotiation table was large, but the stacks of papers for her proposal were larger, and she had more waiting in boxes on the floor besides her.

Stacks of boxes.

They might called her Tanya the Holy in Alliance lands, but we came to know as her Tanya the Cutthroat.

~o~

_**\- A Missive from Velen the Prophet, Leader of the Draenei to High Executor Maarad, Azeroth Wars vol 3. **_

My friend, I bring news, whether grave or hopeful is yet unknown. I only know that nothing is as it should be. Something has changed, the prophecy:

_Silvery moon, washed in blood, Led astray into the night, armed with the sword of broken Light. Broken, then betrayed by one, standing there bestride the sun._

Has been shattered, my friend. It is something that is tied to our own salvation, but everything has changed. A'dal has counseled that we should approach these 'Alliance' in what was once known as Tanaan Jungle. We can no longer hide as we do now, a force led by the Naaru M'uru containing soldiers from the Army of the Light is due to arrive soon, with the Legion's hounds nipping at their heels.

Our only salvation now is to open the Dark Portal and go into this green world A'dal had shown me. The world they call Azeroth to seek counsel with the one they call T'anya.

Gather our people and make haste.

In the Light, we are one

Velen

~o~

_**\- Reflection of High Priestess Tyrande on the Aftermath of the First Legion War.**_

They came, as we knew they would. We have waited over ten thousand years for the Legion's return. However, it was not through our strength but those of the youngers and outsiders who pushed back and defeated the Legion.

I wonder if it was hubris on our part for underestimating the Orcs, or rather, the Horde as they called themselves, thus weakening us when the Legion had invaded. Yet, I cannot deny that they too fought well against our most ancient enemy.

Perhaps, they have earned the lands we were forced to acquiesce during our short lived war with the Horde. Like the human High Priestess said, if I gave them a sliver of respect here and there, they would act like great fodder for the Night Elves. They have proven so when they shielded the Night Elves forces during the Battle for the Dark Portal.

Now, I find myself petitioned by a second foreign outsider, these...Draenei. Our cousins in Lordaeron and their human allies had more interaction with them than we did. However, I cannot see anything but Eredar when I look at them, even though I know they have proven themselves to be different.

Their High Priest, Velen, had thought we would have much in common, being the two of the more long lived species in Azeroth. Perhaps he's right, but I do not feel now is the time to explore our similarities. Beside, his request to free Illidan has caused my love great discomfort; the fact that they knew him and his name was disconcerting.

I am afraid I will have to reject his petition for his people to live on our vacant islands to the northwest. As for Illidan, I will petition Malfurion to release him, since he has already been imprisoned for over 10,000 years. Eternity is too long for brothers to be apart.

~o~

_**\- Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, Collected Missive of Lordaeron. Archived in Lordaeron Royal Library, Restricted. **_

Arthas, I am sorry that Jaina is so willful, but she needs a friend at the moment. Tanya's companionship will do her good, and I'll make sure to take good care of her when she arrives in Stormwind. At the very least, with both of them sharing the same condition, they would not get up to anything dangerous. Besides, the children would be delighted to see Weiss and Visha again.

Unfortunately, Prophet Velen is currently residing nearby to train Anduin directly in wielding the Light. I know Tanya is not very fond of him or of the Naaru, but I will run interference as best as I can. You have my words on that, brother.

I will try to get them to stop calling her T'anya.

Your dear friend,

Varian Wrynn

~o~

_**\- After action report by High Exarch Turaylon, Argus Beachhead**_

The siege upon Argus had nearly failed. The Eredar defensive ships were more numerous than we had first imagined. Even with the fleet from Azeroth we were outnumbered two to one in sheer numbers alone. I have all the respect in the world for the High Queen, but I did not feel a woman who had just given birth to her fifth child not two days ago had any business on a battlefield. I was wrong. The Light works in mysterious ways.

I can say with certainty that without Her Holiness-or Demon's Bane as the Army of the Light now calls her-on the battlefield, we would have lost. Her faith was blinding, even to me. The power she unleashed took down ship after ship. The prayers to the Light that she uttered is being written down and taught to all in the Army of the Light. Perhaps, it was because her faith was stronger than any of us. Velen was right that she shone as bright as a Naaru.

With her at our side, I no longer feel that ending the Legion is some far away dream.

Glory to her Holiness, High Queen Tanya!

For Azeroth!

~o~

_**\- Chronicle of Tanya the Holy Vol. 10**_

**PREFACE:**

_It is unfortunate that her Holiness chose to write in a coded script understandable only to her. Though, I had the distinct honor of serving by her side for many years and taking care of her children, none, not even her own family members were taught her hand. Perhaps it was for her unbridled private thoughts alone. While we may never know her true thoughts, the fact that she had written them makes them important, not to mention sacred._

_\- High Inquisitor Bishop Sally Whitemane_

(Damn you, Being X. Damn you to all the Hells! Damn you to the Fel, the Shadowlands, the goddamn Nightmare! You're laughing at me right now, aren't you, you piece of shit fake divinity! It's you who's sending all these world ending threats to Azeroth, isn't it? And you who keeps on agitating Arthas's lust somehow, I know it! I gave him five children already. That should be enough even by most royal standards!

Ah, damn it! I shouldn't have said yes! I shouldn't have married Arthas. I am overworked and underpaid for helping to save this damned world every other year! I feel like I am working for a black company. No, this is a black kingdom!

Unfortunately for you, you piece of shit, I finally found you. You don't think I hear your whispers echoing through Stormwind Keep? Already, I have Whitemane and Paletress begin purging your Twilight Cultist from our lands. Your worthless worshipers will be extinct before I direct the entire world against you. Not to mention my own personal strike force of forty of my most elite bloodthirsty psychopaths!

Being X, or should I say, Old Gods, your time draws to an end. You might be multiple beings, but I will hunt you all down!

…

…

Ah, enough venting. I guess I'll try to lobby the Council to let me step down after we kill Being X. I will push the job onto Jaina this time; she can handle it. I have already created a very comprehensive proposal outlining why she would be the better candidate to be on the Alliance Council or even lead it. She's been having it too easy with her husband. It's about time that she tastes the hell I have been suffering through.

I probably shouldn't include this page in my chronicle but…ah, who cares. It's not like anyone would be able to read this anyway.)

~o~

The End.

~o~

Authors' Note:

**Vahnhammer:** So it's an epilogue, but it gives a glimpse on what changes with Tanya's presence. For me, thanks to Warlord of Draenor and Legion, we now know for a fact that the victory at WC3 meant nothing along with all the scourging. Archimonde and those demons simply respawned. You did not put a dent in their army unless you actually kill them in the Twisting Nether.

So in this new timeline, rather than waste time and resources in fighting a fake war of WC3, when they meet the Legion, their victory will count. They will be united too unlike the Bronze theory that the Eastern Kingdom would fall to war and kill each other for no good reason. It's the Tanya factor. It is also the basis of a crossover. We don't have to follow canon on the rails. Blizzard certainly doesn't anymore.

As for why it ended here, well, the whole thing kicked off with the humans, but if the humans live and destroy Frostmourne, then it changes the landscape. So from here, it branches out to how we envision it above. As for why we showed the other POVs during the interlude, it's because it shows where everyone else is and what they are doing. It was also a nice break in between the actual main story.

Anyway, at least the story is finished. Not everyone can be pleased, but perhaps enough will be glad for reading along! Already, we are brainstorming up another story!

We shall see, thanks again! Stay safe! If there are questions about some points, I'll reply to them if the answers are not readily available in the story itself. Or Icura could.

:)

**Icura**: Yep, this is the end of the story. I do hope you enjoyed the story.

I wanted to do a Youjo Senki story not just because I loved the light novels, but also because of jacobk story, A Young Woman's Political Record. I'm not sure if I would have dived into Youjo Senki fanfiction if I hadn't read his story so it was definitely influential to me. I will also admit that I was really happy when Jacobk posted once in this thread long ago and when he gave a call out to my story in the author note of his chapter. Around the time I started the story, Gremlin_Jack made his story, A Young Girl's Delinquency Record, and for a time, I fancied myself as his rival. We were releasing roughly around the same word count at the same pace. Though I eventually fell out of that race for reasons already stated. I love reading a lot of the Youjo Senki crossover stories that came out after mine—especially final fantasy tactic crossover story from Watchinkid—and I would like to think that I started that trend, but I probably didn't. Well, I do think I did start the third life trend.

I want to thank Gromweld for all the help he has given. I know Vahn consulted you privately on a multitude of occasions about lore issues, and I have always valued your expert opinion.

Now, time for the super long ending talk/musing/rant/explanation. Skip it if you don't want to ruin your view of the end of the story.

We initially came up with this crossover because I wanted Youjo Senki and Vahn wanted Warcraft. At that point in time, all I wanted to do was write war. Battle. Bloodshed. Massacre. The last story that I wrote seriously lacked that so I was starved for it. I had built up so much anticipation for the war in that story that never came to fruition. So we decided to combine both series that we wanted to do into a crossover. Vahn was practically the lore guy for Warcraft; he knew so much since he had been a WoW player since the start of that mmorpg (massive multiplayer online roleplaying game).

It all started with a question.

"What if Tanya was at Stratholme?"

Then it went into what class would she be able to do something about it or affect it in some way.

Priest was the one that seemed like the best option as magic and melee classes didn't seem like they would be able to affect that storyline as much.

How could she affect something that big?

Maybe the Type 95?

Then it went from there.

As for me, I didn't know a thing about the universe of Warcraft. I did play Warcraft 3 when I was young, but I could barely remember it at all. Cue an entire month and a half spent in research. I played classic Warcraft 3 and then I bought and subscribed to WoW, playing a human female priestess from level 1 to max level. I did it fast, I did it furious, and I could not understand the storyline after Wraith of the Lich King. I literally had to wiki a lot of the storyline because of how poorly organized it was in-game (you just skip past the storyline quests with realizing it or out-level them helplessly). It was a far cry from the unbreakable chain of storyline in Final Fantasy 14. After that, we planned out scenes and battles by getting on his skychaser aircraft mount and flew over the areas where they took place, planning out what happened where so I could get the meticulous details right. That was a lot of fun.

While Warcraft wasn't that popular in fanfiction, we thought that when Warcraft 3 Reforged comes, there would be a resurgence of interest and a new wave of fanfics dedicated to WC3 reforged so we also wrote in anticipation of that. Even our current fans would be able to experience the storyline and get more involved. I was planning to even get inspired while playing it. New graphics and modern UI. A storyline that would be changed so that there wouldn't be any contradictions with WoW. Faster and smoother gameplay.

We went on a mini-hiatus for winter holidays in December, and after that, I was feeling a bit sluggish and lazy from it so I planned to write another chapter after playing Reforge in January, but then the game got delayed. That was fine, I could wait until it released at the end of January.

Then it released.

Well, I don't need to say anything more, do I?

While I will not outright say that there's no chance of a sequel, we would have to forgive Blizzard, a herculean task.

This collaboration with Vahn has been very fruitful, but it wasn't like it was always smooth; we fought each other on a lot of things. However, that was a good thing. We trusted each other enough to fight it out with each other. This happened quite often since we were both passionate about the project. I can't even remember how many times we had to change scenes because one of us disagreed with it. I had my outrageous demands, and he had his own. The thing is, I trusted his friendship and honesty enough that it was still a lot of fun. It really was. There were plenty of times where I would get stuck at a part (usually non-fighting part) because the angle I was doing felt too boring which would lead me to agonize over that one section for weeks or months which would essentially be a hiatus. Vahn helped me get past them often enough that it feels crazy, otherwise I would have been stuck long ago for so many times. We would change it around and hit it from another angle or do something entirely different, enough that it made the scene fun enough to write, something that I had a hard time doing on my own. I used to think that getting stuck on parts that I think are boring was writer's block. It isn't. I ended my previous story abruptly since I kept getting frustrated with constant and reoccurring "writer's block" that probably wouldn't have happened if Vahn was there, especially since that story was solely non-fighting.

If you read this far, thank you for sticking with me through this long rant. I could have just copped out and said that this was just a hobby or it's not like I am doing it for money or anything, but truth of the matter is that I want to do the best I can do, no matter if it is just for fun or what-not. I want to make better stories and I want to be a better writer. I could say a whole bunch of reasons and excuses, but in the end, I just want to be better than what I am.

Well, we will probably be working on our next project once we figure out what we want to do. Though, it seems like every fic I write, I have to do tons of research because their universe is too huge…


End file.
